


Listen to the Sound, Oh it Feels Like Home

by Grey_Lark



Series: Bird Song [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier is not subtle about loving Geralt and has never tried to be, M/M, Multi, No Beta, Or Is It?, Pining, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Unrequited Love, cannon complient for season 1 then AU, netflix can pry that one from my cold dead hands, whether Geralt loves Jaskier back is more up in the air
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:39:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22536382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grey_Lark/pseuds/Grey_Lark
Summary: “You love him” the witch spits out, an accusation.Jaskier laughs. The sound trails off awkwardly as she continues to glare at him. “Oh, you’re- you’re serious. I mean, yes? I haven’t exactly been subtle about that.”-------------------A series of vignettes of Jaskier's time with Geralt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Bird Song [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119881
Comments: 80
Kudos: 1039





	1. Posada

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, I have literally not written in years. Grad school then being a real adult with a full time job really sucked the creativity out of me. But, I still love writing and I'm never going to get better if I don't practice so, this.  
> This honesty started as a small one shot where someone tries to out that Jaskier loved Geralt, and hes just like 'um yheah- wasn't hiding that fact?' but it got out of hand. This chapter is pretty short, but I was so excited to have finally written something that I went ahead and called it- the next chapters should be much longer.  
> This isn't beta-ed so expect so many grammar/spelling mistakes (sorry about that). Thanks for reading, any feedback is welcomed!
> 
> The title is from Juniper Vale's "Bird Song" which I listened to on repeat writing this and wholly recommend. 
> 
> Hoping to update this by Thursday, 2/6!

Here is a fact: Jaskier loves Geralt. He knows this the way he knows the sun will rise tomorrow. He knows it the way he knows the imprint of lute strings on his fingers. And he knows it the way he knows destiny always has final say. He knows that he loves Geralt- with certainty, with joy, and with a quiet, underlying helplessness. (Despite all he thinks he knows there is still so much he’s missed) 

__________

It starts in Posada (if such things can have a definite start), when Jaskier looks up from shoving his next meal into his pants to see a brooding stranger in the corner. Something in his stomach leaps up to whisper ‘Oh’, and Jaskier, never one to deny himself, sets about getting to know the man.

__________

Getting to know the man is harder than he thought it would be. He is used to sideling up next to someone with a smile and, with that, for half the work to be done. But approaching this stranger is an award and staccato encounter. Not that Jaskier couldn’t apricate the economical way the Witcher (a Witcher!) used his words. Jaskier often wishes he could pick and choose his words before they launch themselves out of his mouth, but some unseen crescendo always pushes them up his throat before his brain can serve as judge. The poet in the bard laments that his words aren’t always precise and meaningful, but the truth is Jaskier struggles to carefully pluck through the thoughts that wander through his mind before they can reach his lips. Sometimes the lines coming from him sprout with new life, like weeds thriving around his feet, but most just drop like stones from his mouth and linger heavily upon the ground. 

__________

“You don’t want to keep a man with . . . bread in his pants waiting?”

__________

For a moment, Jaskier and his sore gut think that he may have made a mistake. (Though the fluttering feeling in his stomach doesn’t stop despite the punch crushing it, and Jaskier could just curse that persistence.) But as soon as he recognized the Witcher for what he was, his infatuation had become more than just a feeling in his gut. It had become a longing- not for the person but for what the Witcher could bring him. 

His songs were all fake- a mockingbird trying to mimic something it had only heard in the distance. And suddenly before him, was an opportunity. There were safer, and more economical, things Jaskier could have become, but he had chosen this path. He had chosen uncertainty, he had chosen adventure, and, yes, even danger. It seemed that finally, this man could help him find the words to his missing songs. 

__________

Besides, joyfully proclaiming him the “Butcher of Blaviken” may have been a step to far, even for Jaskier. (It was for Geralt.)  


__________

The bard promises to be silent back-up, but he thinks they both know he has no intentions of being either of those things. Still, the Witcher doesn’t send him away. He growls and ignores him, preferring to talk to his horse (Roach, and wasn’t that a story in of itself?) but he doesn’t stop the bard from accompanying him. So, Jaskier follows. At the end of this quest supposedly lies something not even a Witcher has seen- how could the bard not want to know how it plays out?

There is no devil, of course, just a satyr with painfully good aim and then elves, also with painfully good aim. When he wakes up tied in a cave, an inkling that he may have made a mistake arises along with the panic in his throat. (For him, panic and sarcasm use the same tonal inflections.) The bard can’t even enjoy the feeling of the Witcher’s muscular back pressed against his before the pain starts. Jaskier tries not to make any noise when the red-haired elf kicks him, but silence has always gone against his nature. Even so, the other elf breaking his lute manages to hurt far more than the shoe connecting with his ribs. He’s distracted briefly from the pain though when the Witcher yells at them to stop. The bard had done nothing but annoy the other man, and yet here he was trying to spare him harm and guarantee his release rather than secure his own life. Jaskier tries to return the favor, calling the elves cowards- goading them to take the Witcher in a fair fight and hoping the three-to-one odds aren’t too long for the other man. But all he gets is a brief satisfaction when the Witcher headbutts the woman who’d kicked him, and then unwanted concern when she begins coughing. (For all they have openly talked about his death, Jaskier still can’t stamp out the pity he feels.) Then, Filavandrel shows up, and the panic in Jaskier begins to ebb; the elven king is calmer than his companions, more willing to talk. 

In the end the bard is surprised, as it’s the Witcher’s calm words that gets them released. He can’t help but wonder what else is out there that he does not know. It’s been barely even a day and Jaskier is already rewriting what he knows about elves and Witchers. (Elves who live in squalor, a Witcher who is calm and sympathetic- who knew?) The bard even receives a new lute, as an apology, and she is a beauty- delicately carved and already in perfect tune. He would even consider writing a ballad about a magical elven lute, if his mind wasn’t already filled with thoughts of his companion. 

The bard can already feel the melody rise up in his chest, waiting for him to strum it to life. The words though are the issue. The words are always the issues for him. He wishes he could fill the song with odes to the Witcher’s beauty, his empathy for the elves, or his willingness to barter for a stranger’s release even at the cost of his own life. But words like that are going to have to wait. First and foremost, the monster fighter needs something to get him hired, to get him paid- a song to sell his services. Tales of his softer side would come later, marketing was what needed to be done now. As much as Jaskier longed to let others know that a Witcher could be soft - that he had seen it, for now he would have to keep that as his own personal secret.

As he walks he composes and manages to find what he is sure will be the first of many songs dedicated the Witcher. The lyrics are a little off, but can be edited later on- it’s the melody that matters, and he can tell this one will stick in people’s minds. Which is what he wants. By the time they make it down the mountain the song is ready and that fluttery feeling in his stomach has managed to nestle somewhere deep inside his chest; warm and comfortable.  


__________

“Toss a coin to you Witcher, Oh Valley of Plenty!”  


__________

As Jaskier expected, the song is a hit. People who just earlier had thrown bread at him (which still lined the inside of his pants) are clapping and stomping along in time to his words. By the time he is done the crowd is lively and joyful, and the Witcher has been paid without fuss. Both of their coin purses are heavier than they have been in weeks, and Jaskier is quick to throw the other man a wide smile and a wink. 

“So, about that barker job then?” Jaskier asks, breathless from his performance and the adrenaline singing in his veins.

“Hmm” the Witcher replies, not looking up from counting his coin. 

“Oh, come now, have you ever been paid so easily for a job before?” Jaskier doesn’t honestly know if getting paid what he’s owed has been a hassle for the Witcher (it has), but he can’t imagine being the Butcher of Blaviken inspires generosity in others. 

The other man merely grunts in response. 

“Well, obviously this arrangement is beneficial to both of us- especially you! I get material for my songs, and you get paid instead of run out town. What do you say, eh?” The bard elbows the man lightly in his side and receives a look that expresses if he wants to keep that arm he should never, ever, do that again. 

The Witcher doesn’t say anything and instead heads out of the tavern. Jaskier follows and, once again, isn’t told to stay behind- which is as much of an invitation as Jaskier thinks he is going to get. 

“Well, Witcher, I think you and I are going to have a grand time together” Jaskier chirps, watching the man untie Roach and swing unto her back. He only slightly means it sarcastically. There is something about the man that makes Jaskier think he is important, that the growing symphony in his chest isn’t going to end anytime soon. (A smell of destiny, he had said.) The bard may be young, but for a moment, he sees his life laid out, and it is inexplicitly tied with the man in front of him. 

“Geralt” the Witcher grunts out.

“Huh?”

“My name. Its Geralt- use it.” The Wit- Geralt, seem to feel awkward about this command, shifting slightly in his saddle. 

The bard beams. “Of course- Geralt. Will do!” He brings a hand up pat at Roach’s neck and quickly jerks it to his chest before the horse can bite down. His wide smile falls a bit, but he still has to reign himself in from skipping after the two. Once he falls into pace besides them, he begins strumming his latest hit out on his new lute, already dreaming of all the songs he is going to write about his Witcher.


	2. The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traveling with Geralt is tiring, dirty, and wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So remember when I said chapters would be getting longer? I actually ended up dividing this into two to keep the length a little more consistent. Also, I am probably going to up the rating a little since Jaskier tends to be horny on main.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who subscribed, bookmarked and left kudos, and an especially big thank you to everyone who commented. Seeing the feedback for this was really inspiring, and made my day every time I saw it- thank you so much!
> 
> Also, all information on monsters and Jaskier's backstory is a mix of wikipedia and my own imagination- sorry if I get anything wrong!

Traveling with Geralt is tiring, dirty, and wonderful. Jaskier is used to moving from town to town on his own; quick hops between civilization that rarely left him without a hot meal and a (relatively) soft bed. But, the Witcher prefers to spend most of his time out in the wilderness, away from others. For the first time in his life, Jaskier is “roughing it”. He complains, often and loudly, about the lack of accommodations, and never receives anything more than a grunt in response. But secretly, the bard is enjoying spending time out in the forest with Geralt. He revels in knowing he can live without such comforts, that he can survive in the uncaring wilderness even if it is with the help of a Witcher. (So many people had told him he would never last outside of the comfort of wealth, so how could he not rejoice in proving them wrong?)

__________

Geralt awkwardly (for Jaskier has discovered that most every conversation with the man can be defined as “award”) tells him what bedroll will keep him the warmest, what socks will keep his feet the driest, and numerous other tips that are essential for a life on the road. In return, when they visit a town, Jaskier is often able to negotiate and get their room for free. A happy and lively crowd is more likely to buy drinks than a sullen one, and he knows how to ensure that the increase of business is paid back to him and his travel companion. To his surprise, Jaskier also finds he serves as a good negotiator between the Witcher and clients. Somehow, the words come more easily when he’s using them to help Geralt; he can tell when to push or when to stroke someone’s ego. People who seek a Witcher’s help are either devastated by a loss or angry they could not take down the beast themselves, and Jaskier is learning how to handle both. (Though he has discovered that often when the price is more than someone can pay Geralt has a habit of “forgetting” payment, much to the bard’s affectionate bewilderment.)

__________

As much as Jaskier enjoys the time on the road, surviving off the land with only Geralt and Roach for company, nights in towns are still his favorite. Perhaps more so for their scarcity. He loves being able to perform for a crowd, to feel their energy feed off his and be returned a hundred-fold. His voice rises and falls, echoing throughout taverns to be absorbed by the patrons, who in turn transmute his melodies into coin. Jaskier can’t help but think there is a certain magic in this; in the way that he can control people with just his voice and a lute. He can’t, of course, control Chaos- he would have been shipped off to Ban Ard long ago if that was the case. But singing in a tavern until his voice is hoarse, his fingers blistering on lute strings, the bard feels more powerful than any sorcerer.

__________

He often takes this time, when he feels unconquerable playing his music, to flirt around. A smile here, a wink there, even the occasional hip thrust if he’s feeling particularly saucy. But Jaskier always finds himself drawn back to Geralt. No matter how well any of his other carefully placed hooks are playing out, he invariably drifts over to the brooding man. He could say it’s all in the service of enhancing the Witcher’s reputation and securing jobs- that he’s brining attention to the Witcher for economic reasons, but he knows that’s a lie. The bard never fails to end the night without smiling wildly, with too much teeth, at the man. (A fox’s grin- reckless, manic, and open.) He tosses winks during the love rich parts of songs at Geralt, sometimes even going so far as to sidle up next to the man, attempting to drape himself artfully before he’s pushed off. Jaskier knows his advances are sloppy, fueled by the high of a performance, and he never receives anything other than a roll of the eyes in return. Even so, Geralt never tells him to stop, never tells him he’s not interested, or to turn his flirtations elsewhere. So, Jaskier persists.

Even on nights where he finds company in the arms of some smiling fan (so different from Geralt) he finds himself checking back in with the man. Of course, traveling with anyone, you want to let them know when and where you might be disappearing for a night. But it feels different somehow, to okay a potential tryst with Geralt first- to present his newest infatuation to him for judgment before running off. Mostly, the other man ignores Jaskier’s dalliances, (unless a vengeful partner comes calling) and the bard quickly guides his love from the uninterested Witcher. But on the few occasions Geralt gives him a “really, _them_?” look, Jaskier has left his partner for the evening with little more than a kiss on the check, and an apology. On those nights he more often than not finds himself with a tankard of ale in whatever corner Geralt has managed to hide himself.

__________

It’s nice, Jaskier thinks, to be out with the other man.

__________

Geralt is a man of few words, which is fine, since Jaskier if often a man of too many. It was almost three weeks before he started responding to the bard’s ramblings with more than a ‘Hmm”. Now, Jaskier delights in getting the Witcher to say more than a few phrases at a time. He feels a sense of victory with every word he manages to drag out from the man during the dark nights around the fire. Jaskier likes to think that Geralt now divulges the sparse details of past hunts because they’re bonding, rather than as merely an attempt to shut him up. And though some of these conversations find embellished roles in his songs, Jaskier has found he mostly just enjoys getting to know more about his travel companion. (Geralt would have abandoned him by now if the feeling wasn’t somewhat mutual, right?)

It is on one such night, a few months into accompany the Witcher, when it happens. Jaskier is muttering to Roach, trying to bribe her with an apple he’s bought, when the bard looks up and sees Geralt smiling at him in mild amusement. At that moment whatever had leapt up to whisper ‘Oh’ in Posada now shouted- a raging cacophony within him. Whether it’s the soft look in Geralt’s amber eyes, the upturn of his mouth, or the countless nights around the fire, Jaskier will never decide. But in that moment, he knows; the quiet hum that has been building in his heart, fueling his songs, is only going to get stronger.

__________

Jaskier had accepted since meeting Geralt that the potential to love him was there, so recognizing he’s fallen comes as no surprise, not really. He had known he was interested, it just took him longer to recognize it as full-blown love than with some others. Jaskier is no stranger to finding love and finding it fast. He has always had a soft spot for beauty and he can see beauty in everything- a smile, a joke, a kind word. And so, he falls, crashing from one reckless crescendo to another. Sometimes they fade away after a night; a joyous blare of emotion that quiets almost as soon as it starts. Others though, linger. They whisper softly in his chest until time or another love drowns them out. Jaskier had thought, at first, time would quell his affection for Geralt. That, or the Witcher himself would eventually silence the melody weaving its way through his heart.

Despite what many may think, Jaskier does have some amount of self-awareness, and he knows he, more often than not, annoys the man. He figures it is only a matter of time before Geralt tells him to leave or just one day rides off before Jaskier can wake up. It would hurt (they all hurt) but he would survive it and try to find the beauty in the pain. Most taverns don’t welcome maudlin songs about heartbreak, but every now and then nobles like having something to be sad about. (He would know.)

Until then, Geralt is his friend, oddly enough, and that is a more important bond to him than a potential romance. That’s not to say he won’t leave the option on the table. He’ll continue to flirt during performances, to drop hints about other ways they can spend the cold nights- they may just mean slightly more than they once had. But as always, he will leave it up to Geralt. He will wait. He will wait, and if it happens that his invitations are never accepted or he is told to stop, he will still have spent a life of adventure with this man- and that is more than he could have ever asked for.

__________

As much as he might like to, Jaskier does not travel with Geralt constantly. Sometimes the Witcher goes on hunts that are too long and dangerous for Jaskier to follow. Other times the bard has lined up a gig in a different direction from Geralt’s next bounty, and more and more he is getting hired by taverns, or even some noble houses, to play for days or weeks at a time. Although he always turns down permanent positions, and tends to avoid Kerack. (Home may be were the heart is, but hometowns are where secrets should stay.) And rarely, but it happens, the pulsing melody in his chest swells too loud, and Jaskier has to make up an excuse to separate from the other man until it can quiet again. Jaskier decided to wait, and he will, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard sometimes.

He never knows what to say when they part ways. At first, his goodbyes come with no real belief he’s going to see the other man again. He flutters around, reluctantly trying to draw out their time together, because surely these will be the last words he ever says to the Witcher? As time passes and they keep running into each other, the franticness leaves, though the reluctant nature stays. Now it’s also getting harder to separate their items when they do part- the time to together intermingling their possessions. Jaskier has taken to leaving some of his camping gear with Geralt, since he has Roach to help haul it around and the bard only ever needs it when traveling with him. (The first time Jaskier quips, “I’ll just grab it next time” he nearly has to run away, laughing at Geralt’s almost apoplectic look.) As awkward as it is, they never part without some acknowledgment, even if it’s just a nod of the head after they’ve stated their next destinations. Jaskier appreciates that Geralt has never left without letting him know, that he has never woken up unable to find his friend.

The reunions are easier. He always greets Roach with a treat and Geralt with a smile, then launches into a conversation as if he never left. The other man seems to appreciate being able to skip the pleasantries.

Jaskier never spends too long away from his muse, a couple of months at the most, and he has gotten quite skilled at hunting the wolf down. Sometimes it is as easy as a bar tender commenting that the Witcher from his songs is taking care of a monster a town over. Other times, Jaskier has to get creative. He follows rumors of monsters, of white wolves, and of towns desperate for help. He looks for signs of fights and camping grounds until he stumbles upon the other. On a few memorable occasions, Geralt has come to him. He prowls into the tavern where Jaskier is playing and settles into a corner like no time has passed. In the end, it seems that it is never long after he thinks about how he misses his Witcher that he finds him again. (Those linked by destiny will always find each other.)

__________

Jaskier has learned a lot of things in his time traveling with Geralt. What berries are poisonous had thankfully been learned with the other knocking them out of his hands and not after. (“Fruit is _good_ for you, Geralt” would be horrible last words.) Skinning rabbits had been a gross lesson, during which Jaskier loudly whined that the other man was finding too much amusement in his suffering. (Watching the bard attempt to touch the fur as little as possible while also trying to pull it off may be the closet to laughing Jaskier had yet seen Geralt.) Stitching a wound had been easier than he expected (a lot like mending clothes if you can ignore the material) and Jaskier had figured out what potions in the Witcher’s bag did what through careful observation. Or, more terrifyingly, through not so careful scrabbling and trembling while Geralt described the vial he needed. (Jaskier has taken to counting the bottles before a hunt, running his hands over them and reciting their names in his head.) But for all he’s learned and all Geralt has taught him, the bard still nearly drops the dagger the other hands him when he’s told of his next lesson.

__________

“I can’t believe you fought a monster who turned out to be a lost princess and you didn’t take me” Jaskier petulantly complains from where he is stoking the fire to life. He also can’t believe it wasn’t the first thing Geralt told him when they met back up.

“You were in Aedirn,” Geralt points out, unsaddling Roach, “and I wouldn’t have taken you on a striga hunt, anyway.”

“Still, these are the things great ballads are made of, Geralt! Mysterious deaths, cursed princesses, betrayal-.”

“A king fucking his sister,” Geralt interrupts with a wry smile.

Jaskier pulls a face. “Yes, best to leave that part out, I think. Sort of ruins the romance of it all.”

Geralt makes a noise like he doubts the romance of any of it before turning around to face the bard. “Here” he grunts, holding a small dagger out.

“What’s this?” Jaskier asks, taking the dagger and unsheathing it. It’s a beautiful thing- thin, light, silver. He marvels at the delicate engravings running along the hilt and blade before noticing the perfect balance and sharp edge. This, Jaskier thinks, is a piece of art, made with care.

“A dagger.”  
  


“I figured that one out on all my own, funnily enough.” Jaskier sheaths the blade. “I’m wondering why I’m the one holding it?”

“You need to learn to defend yourself.”

“Isn’t that what I have you for?” Jaskier asks with a laugh, fumbling with the dagger and suddenly wishing the pretty weapon was far, far away.

Geralt’s eyes drift to his left shoulder, and Jaskier sobers.

__________

It wasn’t Geralt’s fault, and Jaskier has told him that repeatedly, for all the good it’s done. The pack of barghest hunting along the road had been almost twice the size the villager had estimated. It really shouldn’t have surprised either of them when one managed to make it past the Witcher to charge at Jaskier and Roach. But in the four years of on-and-off travel, the bard had barely suffered more than a scratch. They had gotten cocky. (“Stupid”, Geralt had spat out later like a curse, though Jaskier wasn’t quite sure which of them he was aiming it at.) His shout had been as much in surprise as pain when the barghest tackled him to the ground, teeth sinking into his shoulder. Luckily, Roach had kicked the beast off before it could try again for his throat, and Geralt had followed by slicing its head from its body.

Jaskier had spent the rest of the fight leaning against Roach for support as she huffed out loud, angry breaths through her nostrils. He promised her all the extra treats and absently patted her neck with one hand while the other applied pressure to the bite. The wound hadn’t been too bad, hadn’t even needed stitches, but Geralt still had let him ride Roach back to town. (A rare occurrence and one he couldn’t enjoy considering the circumstances.) Geralt had patched him up in the tavern, all the while the Witcher looking as if he would pay the favor forward and bite the man who’d hired him with bad information.

Even now, a weeks later, the wound is still red and Jaskier is coming to terms with having such a large scar at only twenty-two.

__________

“Alright,” Jaskier says softly, tightening his grip on the dagger and standing. “Where do we start?”

“You start by finding somewhere safe and easy to get to for that” Geralt replies, nodding at the dagger and Jaskier is already thinking of the loops he could sew into his boot to hide it. “First, you need to learn how to defend yourself without it.”

Setting the dagger in his pack for now, Jaskier weakly holds his fists up then blushes when the other man sighs and moves to adjust his stance and hands. “Higher,” the Witcher commands “You want to protect your face, don’t you?”

“Are you trying to say I’m handsome, Geralt?” Jaskier croons with a wink. The other man merely snorts and goes about showing Jaskier how to punch someone without breaking his own fingers.

It’s always surprising to Jaskier that he is roughly the same size as the Witcher. At least in height- muscularity is another matter, though Jaskier would argue he’s no waif. Still, something about Geralt always makes it seem like he should loom above him. Yet, while the other man is rearranging his fingers, he can easily look him in the eyes. (And isn’t it a pretty view?)

Once Geralt deems that Jaskier is more likely to hurt whoever he is punching than his own hand, he moves on to teaching him how break out of a hold. Jaskier tries to remember how to shift his wrists and what fingers to pull back, but mostly he is focused on Geralt’s hands guiding him, holding him. (They’re warmer than he’d thought they’d be.) When he moves to show him how to escape someone whose grabbed him from behind, Jaskier’s mind blanks. His world narrows down to the points of contact between them and the low rumbling of Geralt’s voice in his ear. The arm across the front of his shoulders pulls him closer, and Jaskier, flush against Geralt’s chest, feels a slight strand of hope (along with something else, if he’s being honest) rise up inside him. Listening to the Witcher’s heart beat slow the bard can’t help but think, maybe this is it? If he’s reading the growing energy around them right, maybe now is when Geralt finally takes Jaskier up on all his offers?

Geralt growls in his ear, commanding him to try to escape, and a jolt sings through Jaskier. He has never acted his best under pressure and now, instead of trying to squirm “free” and press up against the strong body holding him, Jaskier throws his head back. The sound of a nose crunching is not something Jaskier has ever heard so clearly before. (He hopes to never hear it again.)

He is immediately let go, and his high pitched, panicked, apologies boarder just shy of shrieking. Geralt is left holding his nose, looking at the bard with surprise and begrudging respect. (At least, Jaskier hopes it is respect- he made a _Witcher_ bleed.) The cartilage heals quickly, with little more than a trickle of blood falling past Geralt’s lips. Eventually, the other man tells Jaskier that was a good instinct (Jaskier disagrees) and has him escape from the hold a few more times, sans the headbutt. They practice until Geralt deems it too late to continue, and Jaskier is left sore and planning on how to plait Roach’s mane with flowers in revenge.

__________

Whatever energy had been building before is silent, and Jaskier mourns the quiet.

__________

They spend the next few weeks practicing at night, focusing on defending and escaping with just his hands, then adding the short dagger. (Though Geralt never holds him as tight as he did the first night.) During this time, the bard has never felt more tired and Roach has never looked more festive. (Eventually Geralt gives up trying to comb the flowers out since they only reappear in even more intricate braiding.) Jaskier isn’t going to be winning any fights, but now he can buy himself some time and hopefully escape to find help (Geralt). Geralt jokes that if worse comes to worst, Jaskier can always try his lute as a bludgeon- it might even be a better use for it. The bard doesn’t even attempt to hide his offended gasp and quickly reminds the other man that she was a _gift_. Still, Jaskier is allowed back on the easier hunts and Geralt has finally stopped looking at him like he’s going to die if the Witcher turns around for ten seconds.

Jaskier still thinks this is all a little excessive- he’s managed to spend four years on the road without needing to know how to fight. (The barghest incident not included.) Even so, he still marvels at the new calluses forming alongside the ones from his lute. When they settle around the fire, Jaskier has taken to sharpening or polishing his (his!) dagger the way Geralt showed him while chattering away or humming his newest song. He still thinks it’s beautiful, and finds it all the lovelier for the fact it was Geralt who gifted it to him. He wonders where Geralt got it. He wonders if his friend saw it and thought of him. He likes to think he did.

__________

When they part, Jaskier feels slightly more confident with the silver dagger weighing down his boot, and there’s a warm feeling that won’t leave his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading!


	3. Cintra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier has been singing songs about his Witcher for nine years now, but Cintra is the first royal court he has sang in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split a larger chapter into two, so if you are reading this and haven't read the second chapter please go back one. Thank you again for all of the feedback!

Jaskier has been singing songs about his Witcher for nine years now. He’s expanded his repertoire, of course - he wouldn’t be a good bard otherwise. He’s a written a few of the bawdier songs, the type that get taverns rolling in laughter and have his winks returned with pretty blushes. He’s even been known to add the vague love song to his routine some nights, ones that he can easily modify to fit the prettiest person in the tavern. (The more specific ones he only plays for himself, and only when he’s alone.) But even after almost a decade the songs of the White Wolf and his daring deeds still go over the best. Finally, he’s gotten to add a few lines lauding the Witcher’s kindness and chivalry, but it’s the monster fighting that sells. (Besides, mentioning how Great sometimes doesn’t take payment would be bad for business.)

Jaskier still wishes he could compose a song just as an ode to Geralt’s beauty. He’s spent enough nights constructing verses extolling everything from how the fire reflects in the other’s eyes to the way his fingers curl around his swords. Jaskier imagines Geralt would finally make good on his threats to gag him if the bard actually sang any of those for a crowd. Even so, he manages to slip references to the White Wolf’s “piercing amber eyes” and “moon touched hair” in between descriptions of his death-defying heroics. Besides providing an outlet for Jaskier’s late night musings, the descriptions also mean that people recognize Geralt of Rivia. Villagers and nobles alike approach him for a job with relief, instead of fear. (Or at least, less fear than before.) It is the Witcher’s reputation for fighting monsters that now proceeds him, rather than the title “Butcher”.

Meanwhile, the bard himself has developed a reputation. Songs of the White Wolf have weaved their ways throughout the continent, dancing from tavern to tavern and taking whispers of their creator with them. (The first time Jaskier walked into a tavern to hear a song of his already being sung he had nearly cried.) He has gone from stuffing his pockets with bread thrown at him to sneaking delicate pastries out of extravagant parties. Not even yet thirty, and Jaskier would hazard that he just might be famous. (Jaskier, not Julian Alfred Pankratz.)

__________

The bard has been playing throughout Cintra for a few weeks when the notice comes. The princess of Cintra, Pavetta, is getting betrothed and Jaskier has been invited to provide entertainment for the affair. (The shout of joy he lets out upon reading the letter has the other patrons glaring at him, not that he notices.) There is no way Jaskier is turning down this opportunity, but a mummer of concern does worm its way through his excitement. He’s been flitting around Cintra for weeks now, long enough for him to have . . . made some people angry.

The bard never sets out to sleep with trouble, but often trouble takes the form of a beautiful, willing partner and Jaskier is weak. Besides, he has never really understood why sex is supposed to be some secretive, hoarded thing. His love sometimes rings so loudly in his heart, as if it will deafen him, and sex is a way to share that song with his partners. Jaskier has never felt shame in taking or being taken, and has always resented those who though he should. Sex is just an action, the next stanza in the ballad; it cannot change him and it cannot disgrace him. But still, there are those who seek to punish him for what they think he has stolen, refusing to see it was a gift.

When it comes down to it, there is only one person he trusts to protect him, and as luck (destiny) would have it, he’s heard the White Wolf is nearby.

__________

He tracks Geralt down to dreary, cold tavern the day of the betrothal. Well, he finds Roach tied up in the stables- her owner is nowhere in sight. (He knows sugar cubes are bad for her teeth, but their whole relationship is based on Jaskier spoiling her.) Inside is a somber bunch and a blood covered man ranting about a giant monster in the lake. The bard is thrilled. Jaskier spares a moment to debate if he should be empathetic to the obviously traumatized man, but decides he is on a deadline. As soon as Geralt shows up they’re leaving for the capitol (though the Witcher does not yet know it), and he needs to record the details for his song before then. And Geralt will show up, as much as this man insists he’s dead. Jaskier has heard stories like this a hundred times and the Witcher is a very hard man to kill. (Besides a part of Jaskier thinks that if Geralt was to actually die he would know it, somewhere deep inside.)

When Geralt, who he has not seen in months, finally appears he is dripping in the odorous remains of what use to be a selkiemore. Jaskier can’t help but laugh as his friend approaches him and the scared man and he hopes Geralt won’t hold his amusement against him. Apparently, the blood-soaked man is the one who hired the Witcher. Collecting payment is always a tense part of any hunt- though why anyone thinks arguing with someone who just killed a terrifying monster is a good idea, Jaskier will never know. Nevertheless, a quick refrain of his first popular ballad puts all in a good mood, and the coin is quickly tossed to the Witcher. 

Convincing Geralt to accompany him to the betrothal is easier than he anticipates. He had a whole speech planned, outlining the highlights of what Jaskier has done for him and all the earthly delights Geralt could partake of if he went. Not that he thought it would work- it was just part one of the humiliating dance Jaskier was willing to perform. Knowing how Geralt hates even a loud tavern, Jaskier fully expected to spend today bodily blocking Roach in the stall and begging. (Also, hoping that Roach has grown fond enough of him not to kick.) But in the end, the panicked summation of his speech, shouted at Geralt’s back was enough to convince him.

__________

Jaskier orders a bath for Geralt as soon as they reach the capitol; he wants Geralt to be intimidating, not repugnant, and Jaskier refuses to smell dead selkiemore all night. While waiting they fall into a familiar routine- Jaskier checking the other for wounds while Geralt insists he’s fussing too much. (“Teeth the size of _daggers_ , Geralt, and you went straight for its mouth!”) There are only a few scratches, Jaskier is relieved to see, and only a couple of them need any sort of tending to. He’s quick to rub the chamomile mixture on them to promote healing, and takes the time to see if any new scars have appeared on his friend during their time apart. He won’t ask, of course. He never asks, and Geralt rarely ever tells. The Witcher’s body is a tapestry of the life he’s led, and Jaskier knows seeing that tableau isn’t an open invitation to pry. The bard may make a living from the Witcher’s stories, but he’ll find them through the man’s company, not on his skin.

Too soon, it feels like, the bath is ready. (There’s a cut on Geralt’s rear that Jaskier would have _loved_ to give more attention, but, alas, they are on a deadline.)

__________

Sometimes Jaskier thinks Geralt is still trying to scare him away, that he thinks if he glares and growls enough, Jaskier will finally fly off. He forgets that Jaskier has spent the better part of decade following him, that Jaskier _knows_ him and has seen the soft spots he tries to hide.

The bard used to think that Geralt was precise with his words, that each syllable was a testament to control. He knows better now. He knows Geralt is just as useless with words as he is. Where Jaskier struggles to hold the flow of thoughts and emotions from spilling out of his mouth, Geralt has to scavenge for words, and often the ones he finds are barbed and brittle. (Jaskier says too much, Geralt, too little, and yet both struggle to say what they mean.)

Jaskier has learned that Geralt’s words often don’t align with how he behaves- but Geralt is a man of action, so Jaskier knows which of those he trusts more. Geralt can claim all he wants that they aren’t friends and that’s fine (not exactly), because Jaskier knows better. Geralt is here. Geralt is here, and letting Jaskier bathe him and drag him to a party he’ll hate. He trusts him and he wants to keep him safe. What else is a friend?

__________

He’s not sure how old Geralt is exactly, how many friends or lovers he’s buried. But Jaskier imagines, after a while, it must seem easier to not make any connections, to close yourself off from other people. If Geralt wants to pretend he needs no one, then that is his choice. One that Jaskier finds incredibly stupid, yes, but still- his choice. Except, he doesn’t get to dictate how Jaskier feels.

It’s a bit like a punch when the Witcher looks Jaskier in the eyes and bluntly tell him he wants nothing for himself (not even Jaskier), but he recovers quickly. If he has to remind Geralt that someone out there wants him, he will. He’ll remind him that he is here, waiting, and that he will still be waiting, after. He’ll remind him that there can be an after.

Geralt may not need anyone, but Jaskier has loved him for almost a decade anyways, and thinks it is likely he will love him for decades more. If Geralt wants to, he can tell Jaskier to leave, but he can’t will away the singing refrain that has taken root within the bard’s heart. Jaskier’s feeling are his own, and no gets to tell him how to feel. Not even Geralt. The Witcher can lie to himself all he wants, but he can’t force Jaskier into that lie. (“The last thing I want is someone needing me.”)

__________

“And yet, here we are.”

__________

Jaskier had picked up clothing for Geralt on the way to the selkiemore hunt. The pickings were slim, but he doubted the Witcher wanted to wear his clothes- if they would even fit. Jaskier is a bit of a magpie, he can admit, drawn to bright and shiny things and his clothing echoes that fascination. The vivid attire does help distinguish him as a bard- makes him easy to spot in a crowd, but mostly he wears them because when given the choice, Jaskier always chooses beauty. He thinks that the world tends to be a dreary place, and rejoices in being a splash of vibrancy within it. (Like a weed growing in the mud.)

But he knows Geralt does not share the same predilections, and would probably not understand his if he tried to explain. So, Jaskier had found the darkest outfit he could that would not look out of place in a royal court- which was difficult, considering Cintra’s love for gold. (Gold would clash horribly with his eyes.)

Geralt wears it, he has no choice not to with his other clothes out to wash, though Jaskier cannot get him to close the doublet. (Even the bard has done his up- it itches horribly, but this is a _royal_ court.) With that done, Jaskier tries to calm his fluttering heart, takes comfort in his friend’s presence, and heads to the great hall.

__________

Who the _fuck_ is Mousesack?

Almost a decade of traveling with Geralt and he hasn’t heard a peep about him, yet here the mage is, ruining his attempts at subtly, insulting his choice in clothing, and dragging his friend away. And Geralt is _letting_ himself be dragged away, leaving Jaskier to awkwardly find a place to set up on his own.

However, like always, Geralt shows up when he needs him. Some man he is fairly certain he has never seen before wants to look at his ass, and not in a pleasant way. (His bottom has never once been described as “pimply”, so Jaskier doubts he’s who the man is looking for, but a bard is a bard to most nobles.) He’d be more upset by the eunuch lie if he didn’t see the amused smile pulling at the Witcher’s mouth. (The extra coin doesn’t hurt either.) Finding himself weak at the sight of a smile, he puts on a show of irritation out of principal. Mostly, he is just happy Geralt left his apparent _friend_ to help him, and somewhat impressed Geralt came up with a lie so quickly. He wonders if he practiced it beforehand.

The queen shows up in full armor and covered in blood and Jaskier supposes he shouldn’t be surprised given her reputation. She tells him to play, then quickly scolds him for his choice, demanding a jig. Jaskier does as asked, but can’t helping feeling a bit of resentment- his set had been carefully thought out and planned for the occasion. Performances, much like songs or sex, should start off soft and build to a crescendo; they should have lulls and rises and, in the end, leave all parties completely satisfied.

But again, given her reputation, he shouldn’t be that surprised Queen Calanthe likes it rough.

__________

In all honesty, the Cintran royal court is not that different from any other- just larger and with more gold. But it is still full of people, and people, especially nobles, tend to be the same no matter where you go.

He isn’t playing long, not even a full song, before a fight breaks out over a manticore of all things. The Witcher is called to play judge, and Jaskier appreciates that he looks to the him before responding. Geralt knows this performance is important to him, and Jaskier breathes a sigh of relief when, at the shake of his head, Geralt sates the lords’ egos instead of calling them the liars they both are. (All noblemen are liars- Jaskier doesn’t exclude himself from that belief.) He won’t lie about the elves though, while the court revels in their supposed deaths, not even for Jaskier. In the end, Jaskier is thankful that Eist quickly turns the scorn into cheers, and the night continues without Geralt and himself having to make a quick exit.

__________

The Kaedwenis request he play something vulgar, partially as a joke, Jaskier assumes. But he is feeling bitter about the Queen editing his playing, bringing up the elves, and then stealing Geralt for her own amusement, so he gives the request credence. Besides, the host has already shown up covered in blood, and Jaskier thinks he can’t possibly be more crass than that.

But he can damn well try.

__________

“To pull on my horn, as it rises in the morn!”

__________

Jaskier can’t take Geralt anywhere.

As soon as Jaskier had seen the look on Pavetta’s face when Urcheon had shown he knew there would be trouble. There always is when love is involved. So, Jaskier takes the opportunity to place himself in the sidelines, swing an arm around a pretty lady (he remembers her from earlier, she has a beautiful smile), and pretend like he might hit someone with his lute. (He would never, but he’s also not going to draw his dagger in case someone actually takes him seriously.) Of course, Geralt has managed to get himself directly in the middle of the blood bath. Jaskier supposes he wouldn’t be the man he loved if he didn’t aid the cursed knight, but that is little comfort when he loses track of Geralt in the fight.

Thankfully, the queen calls an end to the violence, and a story fit for ballads begins to be told. Jaskier wishes he had his notebook to take notes, but settles for creeping closer to better hear. Moving closer though, proves to be a mistake. Just when it seems a happy ending has been reached, Calanthe attacks, Pavetta _screams_ , and Jaskier is thrown into a stone pillar. A storm rages within the great hall and it’s all Jaskier can do to try shield the woman from earlier.

Then everything is quiet.

__________

He has never seen a night go from blood bath, to magical destruction, then end in a double wedding, and that is saying something. He is standing by Geralt, still clinging to the woman he shielded (who has rapidly become a pillar of support for this night) as the vows are said. With the curse broken, the night is shaping up to be better than any ballad he’s heard, and Jaskier cries a little, not just at the beauty of it, but also at imaging how wonderful his songs are going to be. (The woman with the pretty smile passes a handkerchief because she is apparently one unflappable lady.)

Geralt lets him know he’s leaving with an odd warning before he is stopped by Duny. (Jaskier must be rubbing off on him if he’s using innuendos.) Its then that the bard discovers he will not be singing songs about tonight, at least, not around Geralt. The idiot, because he wanted to spite destiny and somehow forgot how they ended up this mess, claims the Law of Surprise. And with that destiny folds back in on itself and deems there will be another child of surprise in the Cintra royal line.

Geralt storms out and Jaskier figures he will give him a day or two to calm down. The Witcher might think he can outrun destiny, but he’s never outrun Jaskier for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Up next is the djinn and possibly the dragon, depending on how long Jaskier complains about Yennifer.


	4. Rinde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valdo Marx is a cad and a scoundrel and Jaskier could just kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone whose subscribed, left kudos, and commented! I can't explain happy each makes me. The next chapter should be out this week (probably Thursday)
> 
> Also, I'm going to stop guessing what the next chapter is going to cover and how long this will be. It seems like the answer of when a plot point is going to be reached is that it will happen when it happens.

Valdo Marx is a cad and a scoundrel and Jaskier could just kill him. As it stands, he is still cursing that he’d been too far away from his boots to stab the man.

__________

The bards have been rivals ever since Jaskier’s songs started to become more wide spread, almost 10 years ago. Valdo claims Jaskier songs are “crowd-pleasing drivel” while Jaskier maintains the other only preforms “sanctimonious outdated drags”. (Also, Jaskier is unsure why “crowd-pleasing” is an insult- pleasing a crowd is literally his job.) Whenever the two are unfortunate enough to be playing the in the same place, both observe a buffer of at least one room. Valdo has seemed somewhat reluctant to get any closer since discovering Jaskier is surprisingly willing and able to punch him in the face. (Jaskier only regrets that he broke one of his own fingers- which Geralt can never know.)

__________

But, Jaskier had truly thought things were going differently in Redania.

__________

A minor lord had finally sired a male heir (an unexpected feat if you believed the gossip) and was throwing an extravagant two-week long festival in celebration. Tourneys, dancing, feasts- no expense had been spared and both bards were hired to perform during the merriment. Jaskier is fully prepared to maintain the unspoken buffer rule and simply discuss the other bard’s obviously inferior playing behind his back. Only, Valdo approaches him first. He suggests that it if they are going to be forced together for two weeks, they may as well attempt to get along. Jaskier, like a fool (though he does not know it yet), agrees. And for a while, it was _wonderful_.

__________

It stars in a garden. (If such things can have a definite start.)

__________

Jaskier hates Valdo Marx. He knows this the way he knows the sun will rise again, that his elven lute will be in perfect tune, and that Geralt is never completely out of reach. He knows it with certainty, with experience, and with a deep seeded passion. (For all he knows, he should have known better.)

But that hate doesn’t deter him when he spots Valdo reading his favorite book of poems one afternoon, framed in the soft light. Or when he hears the tail end of a conversation where Valdo acknowledges the same lyrical influences that Jaskier lauds. They start to have actual conversations, discussing everything from musical theory to gossiping about the nobles. Jaskier hadn’t realized that Valdo had such a wicked sense of humor, or that his eyes were quite so green. With the other bard’s help, he begins working on a new song, something more traditional than his usual ballads.

__________

A week into the celebrations, Valdo leans across his lute while practicing in the garden, and kisses him. Jaskier is quick to put the lutes aside entirely, and return the favor.

__________

The rest of the festival passes in a whirl of performances then sneaking moments with Valdo. The guests are hungry for songs about the White Wolf and Jaskier is more than happy to supply them. He basks in the attention like a flower in the sun; drinking in the praise to fuel the vivacity of his performances. He works the crowd, getting the guests to clap in time and dance around the hall, all with a smile on his face and a wink ready. Valdo is more reserved in his performances, but Jaskier supposes that fits the type of music he prefers to play. He’s even come to appreciate the gravitas of the pieces. Though, Jaskier isn’t sure if the applause is less enthusiastic for Valdo, or if it’s his pride imagining it. (He isn’t wrong, or the only one who notices.)

With the festival ending, Jaskier knows he’ll remember his time in Redania fondly, and he’s already planning how to perform again with the other bard. Which is why he’s surprised, when he wakes up the last day, after a delightful night with Valdo, to find the other fully dressed and rummaging through his things. Jaskier blinks the sleep from his eyes in confusion, but snaps awake when Valdo picks up his lute. He turns to leave and Jaskier quickly grabs the nearest thing, a candle holder, and chucks it at the cur. Valdo drops the lute with a yelp, and swiftly runs out of the room with Jaskier’s curses following him.

The lute is alright, nary a scratch Jaskier is pleased to see, but an inventory of his things reveals that Valdo has made off with his cache of coin and the notes from his last adventure with Geralt. By the time he’s dressed and makes his way to the main hall, the scoundrel is long gone. Jaskier accepts his payment, takes his leave, and promises that the next time he sees Valdo there will be hell to pay.

__________

He goes to the Countess de Stael to lick his wounds, only to be turned away. He supposes she’s serious this time. Their relationship has always been tumultuous; a clear, elated sound that turns shrill and sour as easily as the sky changes. In theory, their relationship should be easy- the Countess can’t settle for a bard, and the bard isn’t looking to settle down at all. But that still doesn’t soften the twinge of pain when she ignores him in favor of her newest suitor, or stop her from asking how the Witcher is doing in a tone that implies she does not hope the answer is “well”. They both went into this relationship knowing the other wasn’t looking for forever, but then never discussed what that might mean. Both adored flowery words and were quite adept at using them to avoid difficult conversations, so Jaskier shouldn’t be shocked one of them finally snapped.

Last time she sent him away, she had told him, “Even when you are here there is some part of you that is still far away”. Jaskier thinks he knows where the missing piece is, but has no idea how to get it back, even if he wanted to.

He is a little ashamed to admit that as much as he will miss her golden hair and ringing laugh, he’ll miss her estate almost as much. It had been comforting to have the guarantee of a soft bed and good food waiting for him, especially since he had been spending more of his time in the east. Being banned from Cintra and avoiding Kerack means that most of the western coast is closed to him, and the rumblings out of Nilfgaard make him wary of going south. (Last time he had entered Cintra, he had been informed by two not so friendly guards that songs about the White Wolf were not welcomed in the kingdom. Moreover, the bard who created those songs was also not welcomed.) So, he had sought refuge in the east and north, and now has lost his comfortable haven to return to.

__________

Jaskier hasn’t quite figured out how, but he’s certain this is also somehow Valdo’s fault.

__________

It probably says something about him that his most healthy long-term relationship has been with a man who, after sixteen years, still hasn’t called him a friend. And, gods, has it really been that long? Jaskier feels like it was just yesterday he was 18 and newly on the road, sauntering over to flirt with the stony stranger in the corner. But somehow, Jaskier blinked, and now he is thirty-four. He’s developed the habit of forgetting the date, instead dividing his time into that which he spends with Geralt and that which he travels alone, rather than in years. Surely, over a decade couldn’t have passed- he barely looks or feels any older. Time, Jaskier decides, must be playing a cruel trick on him.

__________

Jaskier has stopped being surprised at how often he crosses paths with Geralt, so the fact he is in Rinde isn’t that odd. He hears whispers in the street of villagers too scared to go down to the lake, that a crazed Witcher is stalking it in a fury. Excitedly, the bard asks which way the lake is and waves off any warnings the villagers try to pass on to him. (If they cast knowing glances to the flask he's taken to carrying these last couple of days, he doesn’t notice.) Jaskier only gets a little bit lost on the way, fighting trees and shrubs to reach his destination, but his has drink and his own singing to keep himself entertained.

He finds Geralt fishing, and Jaskier may not know much (or anything at all) about fishing, but he doesn’t think Geralt is doing it right. The frantic throwing and rethrowing of the net seems more likely to scare the scaly beasts away then catch them. When Jaskier brings up the futile nature of his endeavors, Geralt tells him he cannot sleep. Which doesn’t explain the fishing, but is concerning nevertheless. At his soft request, Jaskier can see his friend debate with himself before he further clarifies his actions. Apparently, Geralt’s insomnia has reached the point that he’s seeking a djinn to solve it.

Jaskier can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of someone who should know better seeking a dangerous creature just to sleep. His bewildered laughter quickly stops, however, when the Witcher turns to yell at him, eyes glowing. For all his annoyances, Geralt rarely yells at him. He might raise his voice to order him to be quiet, or to stay with Roach during a hunt, but this barking Jaskier has only heard on the worst of days. (As it is, he is scrambling to remember when this ire was directed at him last and is coming up blank.) What’s more, Jaskier has only seen the Witcher’s eyes glow at night, or when fighting a monster- never directed at him. Something is horribly wrong.

Geralt’s child surprise would be nearing six now, and he had reluctantly told Jaskier one night of what the druid had said to him after storming out of Cintra’s great hall. Jaskier has never seen anything rattle Geralt quite like destiny, and an inescapable child given to him by it seems like a recipe for sleepless nights. (It isn’t until later, after everything with the djinn, that Jaskier hears the news. Princess Pavetta and Lord Urcheon’s ship went down on the way home from Skellige. The Princess Cirilla is, thankfully, alive, but now an orphan in her grandmother’s care.)

He is trying to convince Geralt to open up more when the other asks if he sang to his lost love. Jaskier knows it’s a distraction, a way to avoid discussing destiny, but it is also bait he is helpless to refuse. And, a pie with no filling- fillingless pie? Jaskier is one of the most renowned bards in the Continent, he voice isn’t just a pie, it is a feast for the ears! Jaskier won’t stand for the Valdo Marx-ian critique of his life’s work from someone who hasn’t bathed in who knows how long. Just as he is bringing himself to turn the tables and yell at Geralt, the other finds the djinn.

Jaskier is a little bit drunk, and very hurt, so he grabs the bottle in Geralt’s hands. After a struggle, the bottle is opened and the world is quiet. Just when Jaskier thinks maybe it wasn’t a djinn at all, the sky darkens, the wind picks up, and Jaskier sees his chance. He wishes a painless death for Valdo (he’s not a monster and did love the man, he just also happens to want him dead), and for the Countess to welcome him back, but is stopped by Geralt before he can finish. He would have wished for Geralt’s ability to sleep be returned as his third wish, but he’s starting to think that maybe sleep wasn’t his only goal. They both start yelling, Jaskier breaks the bottle, and then he can’t breathe.

He.

Can’t.

Breathe.

Hand clutching his throat, he still manages to tap Geralt on the back, letting the Witcher know they’re under attack.

Geralt uses magic to send the djinn away, but Jaskier is more focused on how his throat feels like it’s being crushed by some weight, pain and lack of oxygen driving him to his knees. He’s wheezing when Geralt reaches for him, and Jaskier reaches back, grasping the other’s arm like a lifeline. (When he’s more clear headed Jaskier will often think about that, how Geralt reached for him first.) He tries to speak but instead of a stream of words, all that falls out of his mouth is blood. (Idiotically, his first concern is that blood is impossible to get out of silk before he realizes what a bad sign that is.)

__________

Roach, the sweet girl, stand perfectly still as Geralt hurriedly props his body on her back, and Jaskier likes to thinks there’s an extra pep in her step as they race to outskirts of Rinde. Geralt then drags him the elven healer, Chireadan, who tells them the bad news. The wound is magical (which Jaskier though was fairly obvious given the whole djinn and sudden growth in his throat) and the results could be irreversible. On reflex, he tries to gasp, but instead doubles over in agony as more blood escapes his mouth. Irreversible means a life of constant pain, too little oxygen, and worse, no more singing. But things become even more grave when the healer continues- he could die. Even without his voice he could still play his lute, but death means no more songs, no more traveling, no more Geralt. He reaches back for Geralt, blood streaming ever more constantly from his mouth. His friend awkwardly pats his back, and tells him they won’t let that happen, and Jaskier is more touched by that than any other comfort he’s ever been given. His Witcher, who struggles at finding words and is even worse at displaying emotions, is _trying_. He knows the bard is scared, and is trying, as best he can, to reassure him. He didn’t have to, but he did, for him.

__________

It’s harder to focus after drinking the healer’s potion. The pain is less, yes, but now his head is fuzzy and the world spins into a cacophony of pain, wheezing, Roach, gasping, pain, _Geralt_.

Jaskier can’t be sure, but he’s fairly certain Geralt somehow knocks a guard out with a coin purse. Then there is an old man with his dick out, something about apples, and Jaskier is so very confused. They enter the room with the mage, and Jaskier thinks he must have died, which, actually, doesn’t make sense, since Geralt is here, and Geralt wouldn’t have died so easily. His friend sets him down and Jaskier would appreciate the setting much more if he wasn’t dying. Or dead, he is still unclear on that. He thinks the pain indicates he’s still alive, but maybe wishing for another’s death was enough to earn him this punishment- an orgy he’s too incapacitated to participate in. Jaskier isn’t aware of much after that, he thinks he hears his name at some point, but the last thing he remembers is a sudden drop, then darkness. (He doesn’t get to hear Geralt say he’d pay any price for his recovery.)

__________

Jaskier comes to in an opulent bed with no clue as to how he got there. His first guess would be the Countess de Stael, but the women at the end of the bed has the wrong colored hair, and he soon remembers she turned him away anyways. The woman turns out to be an insanely beautiful sorceress, but also, it seems, just insane. Jaskier can practically smell the magic surging off of her and he scrambles to get away. Fumbling with his boots and debating drawing his dagger, he’s suddenly thrown against the wall, and a very precious part of him is grabbed in a very indelicate way. Jaskier wishes he was far away from this terrifying lady, and knows something is wrong when he stays where he is. (What did Geralt wish for?)

Things do not start to look better as the woman begins to chant and the djinn appears. Jaskier makes a quick exit and briefly doubles in relief when he sees Geralt, before remembering that they need to be getting away from this place. The other sounds relieved to see him alive, which normally would fill Jaskier with a warm gentle hum, but he cannot bask in it now. (A power mad sorceress is quite the mood killer.) He quickly explains what transpired as they walk away, and can’t help but feel exasperated that Geralt already seems to know and is worried about the witch. Jaskier doesn’t understand why Geralt cares if she dies. He knows the Witcher isn’t the unfeeling mutant many believe, he’s seen him be empathetic and merciful. But he also generally has limited sympathy for those who mess with magic they don’t understand.

Jaskier ends up racing after Geralt, trying to convince him to turn around, to abandon the witch to her own undoing and leave with him. When Geralt tells him that saving his life has earned her his compassion, Jaskier is stricken. It’s the exact excuse he wants to hear, but something tells him he actually has very little to do with the why Geralt runs back into the villa.

__________

Jaskier can only watch in horror as the house crumbles down. This can’t be happening, Geralt can’t be dead- Jaskier would feel it if he was dead, would feel something shift in the universe. He certainly can’t be dead because of some mad fucking witch he only met trying to save the bard.

He slumps to the ground as the world falls apart and his heart screams.

The Continent will be so much smaller, so much more monotonous, without Geralt. He will cling to the song in his chest and immortalize it so he never forgets the sound. If there is to be only one more song of the White Wolf, then it will be Jaskier’s magnus opus, a way to encapsulate all that Geralt was. Besides, there is no Witcher anymore to insist the removal of lyrics he thinks are too flattering.

Then Chireadan tells him they’re alive, and Jaskier feels a bolt of annoyance. Either the healer is lying or Geralt is letting him mourn outside while the other is fine. The least he could have done after that display was let Jaskier know he’s alive.

But, he is alive. Wondrously, and miraculously alive. After the brief shock of seeing him and the witch through the window, he is over come with a relief so strong it makes his heart swell. Chireadan quickly pulls him away, but Jaskier could have spent hours standing there, reassuring himself that his friend is alive and well, that this isn't the end. (Somehow, he looks even better than he had before.)


	5. Temeria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier doesn’t like Yennefer. He knows himself well enough to admit that there’s a kernel of jealousy at the core of his scorn, hypocritically enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, there is a lot of dialogue in this one- sorry if that's not your thing. I also didn't expect to do a full chapter of Yennefer interactions, but here we are. Also, nothing can convince me that when together, Geralt, Yennefer, and Jaskier don’t act like a barely functional dnd party.
> 
> Thanks again for all of your support!

Jaskier doesn’t like Yennefer. He knows himself well enough to admit that there’s a kernel of jealousy at the core of his scorn, hypocritically enough. Though, when he first spotted them through the window, jealousy was the furthest thing from his mind. His relief at seeing Geralt still alive had overridden everything else. Mostly. He had also managed to notice how the mage and Witcher made quite the pretty picture together. (Jaskier would later remember that first meeting with a certain.... fondness.) But he figured soon they would be on their way, and Yennefer would become a distant memory or, at most, a line in a song.

__________

  
The problem is Yennefer keeps showing back up.

__________

They seem to run into her at least once a year, each time Jaskier greeting the witch with a growing irritation that she seems happy to return. Her words are always sharp, and her actions harsher. She is a storm- raging, dangerous, uncaring of what’s in her path yet somehow still beautiful in her destruction. Jaskier would say he doesn’t know why Geralt stays with her, but he does know. He loves her- which is fine. (It’s not, really.) Still, Jaskier can’t help the refrain of “Why her?” that loops through his head every time she whirls back into their lives. (“Why not me?” is the coda he chooses not to acknowledge.)

__________

She never stays long, always just passing through, leaving Geralt wrecked in her wake. Sometimes they argue, sometimes she is merely gone with no warning; either way the result is the same. For days after their meetings, Geralt is angry and sullen. Jaskier does his best to keep the mood light, to distract his friend from the rejection, but he’s rarely successful. (These things take time- he would know.) Jaskier’s attempts at conversations are only met with growls and requests for silence; even Roach hardly receives a word from her Witcher. The hunts grow more dangerous, the attacks more ferocious, and Jaskier more worried.

Still, Jaskier is there, with gentle hands and words, cleaning up the mess the witch has left. He tends Geralt’s wounds and washes the gore from his hair, humming lullabies he barely remembers. He twines flowers in Roach’s mane, and further distracts the Witcher with tales of his travel’s alone. Until finally, it pays off; the wolf calms and settles. He whispers to Roach again, and forces Jaskier to practice his armed and unarmed defense. Most importantly to Jaskier, he starts to let amusement pull at the corner of his lips, and tilts his head when the bard talks, listening at last.

He stays, and reminds Geralt that there is somebody who wants him. He waits, and eventually Geralt always comes back to him.

__________

Jaskier isn’t sure how long it takes Geralt to recover when he runs into Yennefer without him- if he even does. Eventually they have to part, and Jaskier doubts the other would be forthcoming if he did collide with the sorceress. Though he does suspect Geralt must have happen upon her soon after the djinn incident. When Jaskier finally found his way back to Geralt, a few months after leaving, his friend had been even more reserved and glowering than normal. The bard had wilted when the other almost refused to even look at him, noting his return with only a few strained words. Jaskier had instead lavished his sweet girl (as he had first taken to calling Roach ironically, but now meant full-heartedly) with praise and treats to make up for the lack of enthusiasm.

__________

Jaskier had stayed close to his friend after both of their near deaths, taking comfort in the physical reassurance of their survival. With even as much as he flitted around Geralt normally, he was reluctant to have the other out of his sight for too long, scared to see crumbling walls again. If his friend noticed, he either did not mind or simply saw no point in complaining, knowing it was doubtful Jaskier would listen.

He still has nightmares sometimes, about his throat closing, his voice lost forever. He wakes up gasping, hands flying to his neck to check for protrusions. Jaskier was trapped, replaying the events by the lake when he had woken up and, dragging air into his lungs with harsh breaths, turned towards his companion.

“It was you” he had whispered to Geralt’s sleeping back. The Witcher had wanted peace, and peace apparently meant the bard silenced, perhaps permanently. Jaskier wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. He knew djinns could be tricksters, twisting wishes into nightmares. Still, it couldn’t have acted if Jaskier’s silence wouldn’t have brought some amount of peace. Geralt had almost killed him; accidently, yes, but he had almost wished him dead.

He knew he couldn’t blame the Witcher for the djinn’s actions, but it still _hurt_. His chest had ached not just with the pain of his ragged breaths, but with the crushing despair of the knowledge that Geralt’s peace did not require his survival. His friend’s actions to save him were now little comfort knowing he was the executioner.

In the morning Jaskier made his excuses, claiming a prior forgotten engagement. Geralt hadn’t even looked up from where he was saddling Roach, grunting in acknowledgement. Jaskier had stalled, torn between staying and leaving. When Geralt hadn’t commented further, he said his goodbyes, and headed in the opposite direction of the Witcher.

Jaskier would be back, he knew that even before leaving. He just needed some time away, to soothe the screeching in his heart.

__________

(Geralt hadn’t been asleep.)

__________

“I think we should just kill him, seems like that would solve a lot of problems in all honesty. And, I mean, is anyone going to care, really?” Jaskier huffs in annoyance when Geralt merely “Hmm”s in response. He’s opening his mouth to further persuade the Witcher when Yennefer interrupts.

“I cannot believe these words are leaving my mouth, but I actually agree with the bard. That man tried to trick us into killing his mistress and newborn son; this wasn’t the first attempt on their lives and is unlikely to be the last. She deserves to raise her child in peace.”

__________

Tales of a bruxa terrorizing a town in Temeria had spread down the roads, along with the whispers of the large reward offered by the local lord to the man who killed her. While Geralt had been doubtful that a higher vampire would be doing the mutilations described, Jaskier had not so secretly hoped the tales were true. He hadn’t written about a bruxa fight yet and beautiful women who seduce men to their deaths are always a great hit in a ballad.

It had become apparent something was off as soon as they had reached the town. Many of the villagers had no knowledge of any vicious attacks, and those who did told accounts that were identical, word for word. They were eventually directed to the local lord, Egbert, who told them of the feral vampire hiding in the woods, coming out at night to brutalize the men of the town. He had offed half of the sizable prize then, and the other half when the bruxa’s head was delivered.

Geralt had accepted the money and they had found themselves arriving at the local tavern to stall Roach and secure their things. Walking in Jaskier had almost spun around on his heel to instead spend the rest of the day with Roach or whatever this town had in the way of a marketplace. But Geralt had been walking in behind him, and trying to scramble around the other with the witch watching was more than his pride could have taken. Besides, he had used all his experience in the matter to convince Geralt to allow him on this hunt, and he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity.

It had been almost four years since the incident in Rinde, and Jaskier has already tired of Yennefer storming in to wreak havoc. Still, they approached her, and she had greeted them brusquely. (Greeted Geralt, at least- “I see you’re still alive then” didn’t count as a greeting to Jaskier.) Apparently, she needed bruxae blood, and had heard the same rumors they had, bringing her to the town. (She didn’t elaborate on why, and Jaskier was too terrified of the possible answers to ask.) Geralt had, of course, agreed to join forces on the bounty, as he only needed the head.

The hunt itself had raised even more questions as to the validity of the vampire claims. No one had seen where the bruxa had come from, and there was no recent trail of blood to follow. Eventually, Geralt had been able to track the path of a person through the woods, but it was the crying led them in the end. The source of which was definitely not a bruxa, but instead a small blond woman clutching a newborn to her chest.

The woman had been Lord Egbert’s mistress, who had rather violently fallen out of favor upon birthing a son. She had barely managed to escape with her and her son’s lives when he sent his men to kill her, and had been hiding in the woods since. Though it was somewhat hard to understand her story, as neither she nor the babe stopped crying the whole time. Not even when Geralt pressed the coin purse with payment into her hand and told her to get as far away as possible.

Their short time in the town had been enough to overhear that Lord Egbert may not be the most well-loved of lords. Jaskier knew that a lord concerned with inheritance and fearful that his people might find a child, even a bastard, preferable wouldn’t stop until the threat was eliminated. As they walked back to town, Yennefer and Jaskier on either side of the Witcher, he floated his thoughts on the matter.

__________

“Fine” Geralt grunts out, and Jaskier gasps in offense.

“Now wait just a moment, how come when I suggest the perfectly reasonable option of preventive murder, it’s all,” Jaskier lowered his voice in his best approximation of Geralt’s growl, “‘I don’t mettle in the petty affairs of humans, Jaskier’ but when she proposes it you’re suddenly all for killing him?” (Jaskier likes to think he’s gotten fairly good at imitating Geralt over the years, even if it hurts his throat.)

“It sounds more reasonable coming from her” Geralt dryly states.

Jaskier squawks in indignation, searching for words past “You-!” only to be interrupted by the witch again.

“Just be thankful you have been struck by some divine inspiration long enough to overcome your own internal failings and actually voice a good idea.” If a tone could have its nose in the air, Yennefer’s would be the one to accomplish it.

“Do you see how she talks to me, Geralt? It’s absolutely dreadful and very telling of her character overall, we really shouldn’t disgrace ourselves by associating with her any further.”

Geralt looks as if he would very much rather be anywhere but between the sorceress and the bard.

“I wouldn’t be disparaging characters when you’re the one hiding behind your Witcher. Are you scared of me, Jaskier?” Yennefer grinned sharply at the suggestion.

“What! No- I’m, of course I . . . no” as the she continued to smile, Jaskier trails off. With a huff, he speeds up to walk in front of Geralt and the witch. Truth be told, he was somewhat scared of the sorceress, but Jaskier didn’t think that was an unwise instinct. She was Chaos barely contain within a pretty shell; he didn’t know how everyone else ignored the energy thundering off of her. She was destruction, and Jaskier only hoped he and Geralt were not in her path when she unleashed it.

__________

Back in the tavern, the trio sat in a secluded corner to talk.

“Just to confirm,” Yennefer started, voice low, “you agree that this an issue that should be dealt with, Geralt?”

“You’re right, Yenn. She and her child don’t deserve to die because he couldn’t keep his sausage out of the cupboard.” Yennefer shoots him an unimpressed look as he continues. “If he was willing to try to trick a Witcher, I doubt the man will stop hunting her. If you think this is the best way, I’ll follow you.”

“Wonderful!” Jaskier chirps, restraining from mentioning how it was his idea first. “Well, now that we’re all on this murder roll, I think it’s time we slow it down a bit. You can’t just rush into the castle and stab him- I’ve don’t too much work for your reputation for you to throw it away now on something as trivial as murder. Situations like this need be handled delicately.”

“Delicately?” Geralt asked, eyebrow raised.

“Subtly” Jaskier clarifies.

“You needn’t do anything,” Yennefer states, matter-of-factly, “I can handle it, I simply wanted to make sure you weren’t going to try to stop me.”

Geralt was already shaking his head. “He’s a paranoid man, Yennefer, he’ll have precautions against mages.”

“He obviously has precaution against swords, but that not stopping you.”

“Which,” Jaskier interjects, “is why I propose we just oh so sneakily slip something into his next meal or ale. Any number of people could have poisoned him!”  
  


“I’m not going to poison a man” Geralt counters.

Yennefer raises an eyebrow. “What does it matter if it’s a blade or poison- dead is dead.”

“A man deserves to be able to face his death.”

“Ugggh” his companions both groan before looking at each other in horror. Jaskier thinks it probably doesn’t say great things about his morals that he’s on the same side as an insane witch with a Witcher acting as a conscience.

Yennefer recovers first. “Fine if you are insisting on stabbing the man, simply wait until he’s alone and . . . indisposed, shall we say. That way no one will know it was you and your sense of honor is appeased.”

It’s Jaskier that objects this time. “Is nothing sacred to you- you can’t kill a man while he’s relieving himself!”

“Well, then we find ourselves at an impasse, don’t we?”

__________

It becomes obvious that the conversation had reached the end of its productivity as Yennefer and Jaskier exchange a few more barbs. (Yennefer’s are always better; she knows how to insult in a devastatingly _accurate_ way.) Eventually, Geralt suggests simply surveying the castle before making any plans, to see what they’re up against.

The other two reluctantly agree, but it turns out they didn’t need to worry- Lord Egbert found them. News of their return sans a bruxa head had spread, and the man corners them in the street, demanding the job be completed. When Geralt refuses, citing a lack of vampires in the woods, the lord and his men spring to attack. Jaskier has never understood how anyone looks at the Witcher and thinks ‘I can take him’, but a surprisingly large amount of people always seems to line up to fight him. Maybe they think there is safety in numbers, or that the tales of the White Wolf are exaggerated, (only slightly, and by Jaskier’s own words) but regardless the mage and Geralt make quick work of the group.

It’s all rather anticlimactic, Jaskier thinks, (though he’s learned that most battles are) just a few moments in the middle of the road and the whole thing is over. He rather liked the idea of sneaking around, finding the right time to poison the man. (Poisoning a noble in their own home has always been a dream of his, though one that features a very specific target.) But he supposes this was easier, and he is already thinking of how to spin it in the White Wolf’s favor.

With nothing else to do, they head back to the tavern- night is already falling.

__________

When the matter of rooms is brought up, Geralt asks the bard if he’s planning on performing tonight. Jaskier’s wink and response of “Oh, you know I’m always willing to perform for you, dear Witcher” has him flinching and looking to Yennefer. He breathes out a sigh of relief when it doesn’t appear she noticed Jaskier inserting his foot into his mouth. He’s been fairly competent at reining in flirting with Geralt when she’s around, but every now and then he slips back into habits almost two decades in the making. It seems uncouth, even to him, to hit on the man she’s involved with right in front of her. Also, he is not excited about the new avenues her mocking could take if he’s more obvious about the cycle of pinning, rejection, and waiting he’s chosen to live in. Jaskier is almost forty (Forty? That can’t be right) and too old to be teased about a boy he likes. (Not to mention, Jaskier is a little worried about what might happen if it turns out Yennefer is the jealous type.)

The witch apparently already has a room, but Jaskier knows he should still barter for two tonight anyways. The lovers never actually stay in a room together, and Jaskier doesn’t particularly feel like being locked out of his own until they’re done or dealing with Geralt when he’s inevitably kicked out. (His friend crawling back to share a room after fucking the witch only serves to remind Jaskier of where he ranks.)

The bard manages to get one room for free in exchange for his services, as well as a hot meal and ale. He tosses the key to Geralt, his heart clenching as he watches him and Yennefer make their way upstairs until the witch’s dress swishes out of sight. (It may be too dark for his taste, but Jaskier can admire her sense of style.) He quickly shoves the dissonant ringing in his chest down and plasters a smile on his face. He has a job to do and a crowd to please.

__________

After the tavern is good and riled, and Jaskier is slightly breathless, he heads to the bar for a break. Taking a large mouthful of ale to sooth his throat, he notices that apparently the witch has made her way back down, and Jaskier has accidentally sat next to her.

“Gods, there’s no escaping you, is there?” he whines once he’s swallowed

Yennefer huffs a short chuckle. “You really don’t like me, do you, Jaskier?”

“What could ever have given you that idea?” he drawls, bringing his ale once again to his mouth.

“I’m not a child to worry about if someone “likes” me. But for having saved your life you sure have a funny way of showing gratitude.” Yennefer is leaning back in her seat, examining Jaskier as if he was a particularly interesting bug.

Setting is cup down harshly, he spits “Oh, don’t act like you did that for me, witch. You thought I needed to be alive to make my final wish.”

The sorceress looks intrigued, slightly. “He told you about that, then, that he was the one with the wishes? Did he tell you what he wished for?”

Jaskier resists placing a hand to is throat, feeling the ghost of pressure clogging his airways, the taste of blood lingering on his tongue. “Fine, you want to know why I don’t like you, _Yennefer_? I think you’re cruel, and I think you make things worse every time you show up.”

She lets out a harsh laugh. “Oh bard, didn’t anyone ever tell you- the world is cruel. You enter, you survive, you die.”

Jaskier is shaking his head before she finishes. “The world isn’t cruel, it just _is_. It’s what you make of it. I think most everything in life’s a choice, and you’ve chosen to let it make you cruel.”

“What a charmed life you must have led to think that” she hisses, vitriol lacing her words.

Jaskier thinks of names he doesn’t use, of nights spent hungry and shivering rather than going back. But looking at the woman in front of him, he doesn’t think those words would mean much to her. Besides, his pain isn’t for her judgement. “Perhaps” he concedes. “Even so, I think you’re cruel to someone who loves you. The world is scarce for love already and you shouldn’t go trying to destroy what little persists. I’m not saying you have to suddenly become a friend of humanity- hate the world if you want. Be cruel to a world that has been cruel to you. Just don’t be cruel to him.”

Yennefer pauses for a moment, staring at Jaskier with a look he cannot decipher. Finally, she sighs. “It is not my intention to be cruel to him, but I refuse to be held hostage by something as ephemeral as love. Not when there is so much more I want.”  
  


Jaskier can’t stop the snort that escapes out of him. He can admit to being reckless in love, but he’s always at least known it’s worth. “Well, it sounds like you’re in for a long, lonely life then.” He lifts his ale in a mock salute. “Congratulations.”

Any softness that might have been there is gone as she snaps, “I refuse to be scolded by a man who thinks the world is a pretty song.”

“I know the worlds not a song- if it was I wouldn’t have to fill it with my own.”

“Then I will not be scolded by a bard who acts like an idiot and thinks his songs make the world any better of a place.”

It’s Jaskier turn to sigh, a long breath escaping him as he sets the cup back on the bar. He turns back around to motion at the lively crowd he’s left behind. “Maybe not the world, but here, in this tavern, I’ve made their night just a little bit brighter. Has there ever been a time you’ve actually made anyone’s life _better_ , Yennefer?”

Desperate to leave the conversation with the last word, Jaskier quickly darts to the middle of the room, and strums his lute to bring attention back to him. He beams at the cheers he receives, and lets the music swirl and grow around him, forgetting the witch and the ache in his chest. Tomorrow, Yennefer will be gone, and Geralt will need to be forced back into happiness again. But that is tomorrow. Tonight, he is just a bard, and the crowd is clapping, and he is rising, rising, with the melodies that flow through him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should clarify that I love Yennfer but Jaskier . . . doesn't (yet). 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. The Road to the North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All he can do is grip Geralt’s arm in a vice and let loose a stream of curses as the needle pulls, in and out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow- I did not expect to get such a great reaction to the last chapter. Thank you so much!! Even though I don't respond, I definitely read (and reread) you comments and they make my day. Also a huge thank you every one whose left kudos, subscribed, and bookmarked this story. It's grown far larger than I thought it would, and it's all thanks to your support. 
> 
> This chapter is a little shorter than the others, but really want to get in some soft!Geralt (or at least trying to be soft) before we get to the dragon hunt. I hope you enjoy!

“I assure you, good gentlemen, I am not but a humble bard- I have nothing on me but the clothes on my back.” Jaskier reasons, hands raised and attempting to smile congenially at the two men currently pointing swords at him.

“And what fine clothes they are” one of the bandit leers.

Fuck. Jaskier is normally proud of his appearance, having sunk most of his earned money into smooth silks and soft leather. He’s an admitted hedonist with little impulse control, and his finances reflect it. Outside of a small emergency fund, he feels no need to haul around extra coin. (Besides, traveling with a monster hunter means he goes through doublets fast.) Though, generally, it helps avoid situations such as this- a bard on foot with little baggage is not normally a target for highwaymen.

“Oh, come now, you wouldn’t leave a man naked in the middle of nowhere, would you?” He asked, wide smile wavering. They very much probably would, Jaskier thinks, but if there’s a chance of talking his way out of this he’s going to take it.

The bandit who’d spoken earlier snorts. “If there’s more silk like that in your bag it’ll be worth as much we could make in a week,” (Despite the situation, Jaskier is offended at the lowballing of his wardrobe.) “Besides, the elven lute of the great Jaskier will fetch quite a pretty coin.”

Double fuck. “Ah, I see you’ve heard of me then, I’m flattered- well as flattered as a man with a sword in his face can be, honestly. But if you know me, then you must also know of my usual travel companion. I don’t think he’d be very happy with his bard being robbed.” Most of the time the mention of Geralt tends to scare people off, as if talking about him could summon the White Wolf. But if these men already know who Jaskier is, then name dropping might not be so successful.

“I don’t see any Witcher around here, do you Rollo?” The bandit asks his partner, who tightens his grip on his sword, but still shakes his head. “So, we’ll be taking your things now.”

Jaskier takes stock of the men in front of him. There’s only two, and they’re obviously not expecting him to fight back. Besides, the quiet one, Rollo, seems nervous about this whole endeavor, if he can take out the leader there’s a chance he’ll just run.

Decision made, the bard carefully sets his lute and bag on the ground next him.

“Certainly, my good man, I wouldn’t want to delay you any further.” (Jaskier wonders if they can hear the steel in his flat voice.) He reaches down and pretends to struggle with his boot, hopping forward on one foot towards the man. “Goodness, have you ever noticed how hard it is to get your shoes off when rushed?” Continuing to ramble and trip forward, Jaskier looks and sees that the bandits, either due to his acquiescence or the scene he’s creating, have lowered their blades.

__________

(Foolish.)

__________

When Jaskier is close enough to the leader he slides his hand into the boot he’s been fumbling with and wraps it around the silver dagger Geralt gave him years ago. Swiftly, up he strikes, the thin blade finding home between the man’s ribs to settle in his heart.

It shouldn’t be so easy, Jaskier thinks, to kill a man. He should have to push harder, be quicker- be colder. He should have to struggle for every inch; the blood that spills should burn. It shouldn’t be quick. It shouldn’t be clean.

But it's done and there is still one more.

Over the years the silver blade has been joined by a less ornate steel match. Jaskier draws it from his other boot, as he yanks the silver dagger from the bandit (oh gods, people shouldn’t make those noises), who slumps to the ground. (It’s as if the blade cut some invisible marionette strings inside him.) The bard turns to the remaining man, daggers positioned defensively in front of himself. Rollo’s grip is white around his sword and his blade is raised, barely sparing a look to his fallen comrade. Not friends then- not running, either.

He advances on Jaskier, who has to leap back as he swings the blade down. With the element of surprise gone, Jaskier knows he’ll have to rely on dodging until he can get in close. His daggers are sharp and he is quick, but a sword has reach and its owner, rage. (Not that Jaskier isn’t also fairly angry with the situation, as the one body can attest.) Adrenaline is singing through his veins, pooling in his joints and stomach; everything fades to white noise, centering around his opponent. Weaving and stepping- this is just another dance, just another beat to follow until someone falters.

__________

And someone does- Jaskier.

__________

He thinks he sees his chance. (But Jaskier often wonders if he’s being too optimistic about what he sees.) Rollo is a better fighter than he’s expecting, with a stance hinting to prior military training. But the bandit is slowing, the dance waring on him, and he is starting to leave his left side open. Jaskier presses the advantage, and manages to sink the silver dagger into the man’s side. (His mark is off- too wide to nick the intestines, to do any real damage.) Rollo roars with pain, bringing the sword down to catch the bard’s upper thigh, leaving a deep gash.

Jaskier’s leg can no longer support his weight as he staggers back then down, first to one knee, then on the ground completely. He’s breathing heavily through his nose, quick, staccato breaths, as he watches Rollo approach. Maybe he can throw a dagger, maybe he can scramble for purchase on the dirt road and get back up, or maybe he could- Rollo suddenly stops, a sword thrust through his chest. He looks just as surprised as Jaskier at this development. (Well, at least for a moment.)

The sword retreats, the bandit falls, and Geralt is there, wreathed in the setting sun. Then he is rushing forward, amber eyes worried and whispering like a prayer, “Jaskier”.

__________

“Sweet mother of Melitele, Geralt, a little warning next time!” Jaskier yells as Geralt presses the needle into this thigh. This isn’t the first time Jaskier has needed stiches, or even the first time Geralt has sewed him up. Hidden behind his expensive silks are scars that "just a humble bard" would never have. There’s the barghest bite (his first real consequence from chasing things that go bump in the night) on his shoulder, a slash on his back from a kikimore, and other various markings signifying his two decades as a Witcher’s bard. Geralt always tells him to stay back, but Jaskier always wants to get closer, to see more- to know more. He has never been one to deny himself. It’s is an old refrain at this point- Geralt distracting the bard with tales of hunts past only to unexpectedly beginning to treat the wound. After the first stich though, no story can distract him- all he can do is grip Geralt’s arm in a vice and let loose a stream of curses as the needle pulls, in and out.

His head sags against Geralt shoulder as the other concentrates on stitching the wound. Witcher potions won’t work him- something about the toxicity, so he has to heal the old fashion way. Well, mostly, the healing salves speed things up tremendously. (The smell of chamomile should probably make him sick by now, but mostly it reminds him of warm hands on muscles.)

“There you go, Jas, you’re doing well.” Geralt manages to murmur out, each statement of comfort sounding like its being forced from his throat. He’s trying to talk the bard through this, and Jaskier appreciates the sentiment- he knows Geralt has never learned how to comfort someone, and that each phrase is a swing in the dark. Even if each attempt sounds like Jaskier is an expectant mother in birth, his friend is trying.

While still clinging to Geralt side, the other finishes tending his would, wrapping his thigh in bandages. (He hadn’t even been able to enjoy the feeling of the other’s hands rubbing the salve on his upper thigh through the pain.)

“You . . . you did good.” Geralt mutters, lightly patting Jaskier on the shoulder before disentangling himself from the bard.

Jaskier leans back on his elbows, eyes following the other as he moves to finish setting up camp. “Yes, well, I suppose anything is better than that first time you patched me back together. I still maintain I kicked out on reflex- it wasn’t an intended assault on your manhood!”

Geralt huffs, apparently disagreeing with that statement, as he unfurls the second bed roll near the fire. “I meant, earlier, during the fight. You did well.”

Jaskier beams up at Geralt as he sits back down next to him, chest swelling at the compliment. “High praise indeed, coming from you, dearest Witcher.” He releases a long breath, letting his head fall back to look at the stars. “Though, I think you’re perhaps being a little generous- you did find me flat on my ass with a sword in my face.” Turning back to his friend, he nudges him with his elbow. “I’m thankful you beat him to the stab, so to say.”

Geralt grunts, but doesn’t object to the touch. “You weren’t dead yet, and you had already managed to take one of them out with just daggers. That’s better than most could have done.” Jaskier can feel a light blush heating his cheeks, though he hopes it’s hidden in the glow of the fire. Geralt isn’t one for compliments, and for once the bard doesn’t have a reply. He’s opening his mouth to say something, anything, when, surprisingly, Geralt continues. “I know. . . I know some people have . . . difficulty, after their first . . . if you need to talk, I . . .”

Jaskier tilts his head, watching his friend stare at the fire while haltingly trying to form a sentence. Realization dawns on him, and he sits up straight despite the painful pull on his stitches. “Geralt,” he tentatively asks, “do you think this was the first man I’ve ever killed?”

Geralt’s head snaps to look at the bard, “What?”

Shaking his head, Jaskier laughs softly in bewilderment. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to have a break down about the status of my soul, or some such nonsense. This wasn’t the first time I’ve killed someone, and it probably won’t be the last. I’ve made my peace with the fact that sometimes its them or me, and I’m certainly not going to choose some stranger’s life over my own.”

__________

Jaskier in no way enjoys killing- he had spent two days hyperventilating in a room when his silver blade had first found its mark. (Partly in guilt, but mostly because he didn’t feel any different once it was done. Shouldn’t he have been fundamentally changed after taking a life?) But the life of a traveling bard is dangerous, and Jaskier refuses to die alone and unknown, left bleeding on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. If he has to, he’ll fight- and he’ll win. There’s still so much left he has to see. (And someone he’s not done seeing yet.)

__________

“I’ve never even seen you draw your daggers” Geralt states in disbelief.  
  
“Well of course not- not when I have a big strong Witcher to look after me.” Jaskier teases with a wink. When his friend doesn’t respond, his smile drops and he continues, softly, “But . . . you’re not always here, Geralt, and the word doesn’t stop being dangerous just because you’re not around.”

The Witcher grunts, and goes back to staring at the fire, and unreadable look in his eyes. Jaskier leans over and presses his shoulder against his friend’s, trying to catch his eye. “Really, Geralt, there’s no need to worry. I’m fine. I knew what type of life I was choosing.” He knew how much harder life would be as a bard- as a Witcher’s bard, and he doesn’t regret either of those choices for a moment.

Geralt finally looks back at him, eyes searching Jaskier’s face. Whatever he finds has him nodding, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Gently jostling the shoulder pressed against his, Geralt tells him, “Come on, bard, you should be getting to sleep.”

Jaskier sits back up straight and stretches his arms over his head. “Ugh, I suppose so- good for healing and all that.” Dropping his arms, he looks to Geralt. “So! Where are we heading off to tomorrow?”  
  


“We?”, Geralt asks, an amused smile growing on his face as he stands.

“Of course, we. We’ve had the good fortune to run into each other, and I have no pressing engagements- it only makes sense to resume our traveling together.” (Jaskier dare not mention destiny or fate, lest Geralt leave without him out of spite.)

Geralt reaches a hand down to pull Jaskier up. “Haven’t been north in a while.”  
  


“Then, north we shall go” he replies, leaning against the larger man as he helps him limp to one of the bed rolls. Settling into sleep, he knows Geralt will have to lift him up onto Roach tomorrow (that show of strength always gives him a thrill); he wonders if he can convince the other to ride with him. It’s harder (some would say impossible, but Jaskier isn’t a quitter) to play his lute with both of them on the horse, but the comfort of having Geralt so close outweighs it. With night settled around them, and Geralt sharpening his sword across the fire, Jaskier falls asleep, finally back home and safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again!


	7. The Caingorn Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out that a dragon has burned half of a hill side, and the king has offered a bounty for its death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that I didn't update any last week. I just sort of had a downer of a week where the most stressful thing I did outside of work was play Stardew Valley. But, thank you so much for sticking with me! Seriously, I cannot explain how wonderful the support I've gotten on this work is and how much it's motivated me to actually write. 
> 
> Also, we've made it up that hill! By that I mean we finally made it to the Dragon Mountains, a place I thought we'd be 5 chapters ago. But, the end is in sight! (of this part at least.) I'm planning to wrap up a little past the cannon events then figure out how I want to proceed from there. But, I do already have a oneshot from Yen's view planned, so keep an eye out. Thank you again and I hope you enjoy!

Roach is surprisingly good for sounding ideas off of- Jaskier understands why Geralt talks to her so much. He’s been working on this song for months now, but for some reasons it’s not flowing. The words are mired under all the thoughts in his head and his fingers refuse to produce the melody he feels in his chest. Geralt and Yennefer’s relationship is complicated enough to warrant a song, but every time he goes to write, his own emotions begin to insert themselves into the lyrics. Jaskier thinks he’s made his inclinations towards the man fairly obvious in singing his praises over and over. Nonetheless there’s something about acknowledging them in a love song (and it is a love song, even if the love is rotten) that seems too open and raw. This is supposed to be a song about Geralt and Yennefer- their poisoned relationship, not Jaskier’s longing.

Geralt is off hunting some bird monster (a griffin maybe? Jaskier should have doubled checked) while the bard is discussing metaphors with Roach. And, he supposes, the two men who hired the Witcher, though they aren’t nearly as helpful as his sweet girl.

  
  
Jaskier is always disappointed when the person who hires Geralt insists on accompanying them. They only do so out of distrust for the Witcher, not out of any real desire to help or witness the fight. Jaskier and Geralt are better off expecting men like that to rob them than to provide any actual aid. Which is why Jaskier is waiting with Roach and keeping an eye on the two men. Not that he’s especially disappointed to be missing out on clinging to the side of a steep cliff while a monster bird attacks. He may be recklessly curious and prone to impulsive decisions, but even he has limits. (Also, he’d never tell Geralt, but his leg is still a little stiff from his bandit encounter a few weeks ago.)

Jaskier isn’t surprised when the men decide to no longer wait on the Witcher (people are always too quick to assume Geralt is dead) but he is shocked at their boldness in grabbing Roach’s saddle bags. (He’ll have to remember to tie her more loosely next time so she can bite them herself.)

  
  
Jaskier quickly discards his lute and stands. There’s only two, they’re unarmed, and clearly don’t think he’s a threat. Still, the bard debates calling for Geralt; he’ll hear him and deal with this more easily than he can. Before he can make any decision though, three strangers appear, flanking the man with the saddle bags. With a sharp twist, one of the women breaks his neck- it’s one of the most brutal things Jaskier has ever seen and he falls in love instantly.

__________

In the tavern they’re informed that a dragon has burned half of a hill side, and the king has offered a bounty for its death. Though honestly, Jaskier is only half paying attention, choosing to instead focus on Véa and Téa. These women are beautiful, deadly, and want nothing to do with him- so obviously they’re just his type. In his head, vicious and elegant swans gracefully dance by, but all that tumbles out of his mouth is something about geese. He doesn’t blame the look Geralt gives him- he’s probably become used to a much higher caliber of flirting from the bard. (Jaskier has had the time to practice flirting with the man over the years and to organize his thoughts before he tries.)  
  


With that failure (and a resolve to try again latter) he finally pays attention the older man’s explanation of the hunt, looking to Geralt to determine his stance on the matter. His Witcher doesn’t seem keen on the job but Jaskier hopes they take it- he’s never seen a dragon before; had thought they were little more than legend. Not to mention it would give him more time to try to recover from the sexy goose incident with the two beautiful women accompanying the old man.

Borch points out the other teams who are . . . characters to say the least. There’re the dwarves led by a surprising agile and somehow familiar leader, and the Reavers, one of whom is staring at them with a strange intensity while feeling up a barmaid across the room. The awkward energy around their group only grows when Borch leans across the table to whisper ominously at Geralt. Jaskier quickly interrupts that strange exchange, distracting both by asking about the fourth party, though really, he shouldn’t have bothered.

__________

Of course, its Yennefer. That’s just the way his life works now.

__________

Any excitement he had regarding this hunt flies out the door as soon as she breezes in. Jaskier has seen this cycle, has lived it enough times to know there’s little hope of escape. Still, he desperately tries to decline the offer and leave before the part of Geralt’s brain that shuts off when he sees Yennefer can start making decisions. He’s annoyed, but not surprised, when he fails.

Yennefer is here with another man, which means Jaskier is resigning himself to a night of watching Geralt watching her. Jaskier understands what it’s like to feel the urge to drop everything for someone, and to pine when they leave. That’s been his most of his life since he met Geralt. So, truly, Jaskier is empathic to Geralt’s obvious weakness for a woman. He just wishes it wasn’t _this_ woman. His friend deserves someone who doesn’t wield words like well-aimed knives, someone who won’t leave him in the morning only to turn around and demand his full attention. (In his weaker moments Jaskier thinks that, just maybe, Geralt deserves someone who would write whole songs devoted to how wonderful he is.)

But, this is the woman Geralt loves. This is the woman who has a Witcher wrapped around her finger and doesn’t even seem to care.

Jaskier is coming to turns with this being a very long trip.

__________

Things are not looking any brighter in the morning. They have to leave Roach at the base of the mountain, and Jaskier knows she’ll be okay but still can’t help but worry about his sweet girl. Not to mention, the tension between the dwarves and the Reavers has only seemed to escalate and Jaskier has traveled in enough caravans to know to stay out of that situation. Still, since last night Jaskier hasn’t been able to shake the idea that there’s something familiar about the dwarven mercenary leader.

It’s only once Yarpen’s introduces himself, that he realizes with a start why he recognizes the dwarf. He knows this man- Julian, not Jaskier, which is surprising given that Jaskier has done a very good job avoiding people Julian knows. But now, he knows the dwarf, and his mercenary company. They had been hired in Lettenhove to deal with a bandit problem, and had begrudgingly been given food and lodging in addition to their fee. Julian has meet them, dined with them, and now Jaskier needs to make sure no slips happen.

Once Geralt is focused on Roach he rushes through an introduction, old names tasting stale in his mouth. He’s cut off with a simple “I know” before he can express his wish to be called Jaskier. Still, considering how focused the dwarf is on his travel companion, Jaskier thinks (hopes) that the fact they’ve met before won’t come up.

Not that Geralt is likely to notice, with Yennefer here- who is just as quick and targeted with her insults as he remembers. Jaskier knows he doesn’t have crow’s feet, but the mention of them is enough to send him fluttering off after the rest of the party. (As much as he fears aging, the lack of its presence isn’t something he likes to think about either.)

__________

Not matter what the dwarf implied, Jaskier is confident they’ll make it back alive. (If nothing else, someone has to untie Roach.) Geralt hasn’t placed him in mortal danger yet- though his critical thinking and decision-making skills have been know to drastically degrade around Yennefer. (Even so, Jaskier would follow Geralt until the Witcher turned him away, no matter the circumstance.)

__________

Jaskier tries to distract himself from the endless walking by chatting with Véa and Téa, though it’s not going any better than the night before. They seem oddly enamored by the old man, and he can’t suss out what, exactly, their relationship is. Still that doesn’t stop him from trying to impress them, though mostly he just ends up tripping over his own words and limbs. Jaskier will admit he’s gotten a little out of practice at flirting with anyone outside of his performances who isn’t Geralt. When he’s singing it’s easy enough to wink and saunter; to let his music carry his intentions far better than his own overflowing thoughts can. After that, most people are charmed with just a smile from the confident bard.

With Geralt, though, its different. (Everything’s different when it’s Geralt.) Flirting with the man has become second nature to Jaskier; an act as natural and familiar as the air in his lungs. He knows what lines will get ignored, which will earn him a glare, and those that, in rare instances, result in the small, amused, smile Jaskier loves. Time has given them a comfortable understanding of each other.

So, it’s disappointing to realize he hasn’t properly flirted with anyone else in enough time to have become rusty. He cringes at the fumbling and awkward words that drip from his mouth, but persist nevertheless. Véa and Téa really are his type, as their growing annoyance confirms, and he could use the practice getting his brain to intercede between his thoughts and tongue.

__________

The hirikka is cute, then terrifying, then mostly just sad as the knight dismembers it. Even Yennefer seems shocked at the ruthlessness with which her newest toy attacked the creature. She still rushes to fawn over the man though, and Jaskier keeps a sharp, yet sympathetic, eye on Geralt. That evening, as the bard records the day’s events, he makes sure to cast understanding looks to his friend at the witch’s honeyed words. Though he needn’t have worried- the knight is dead by sunrise.

Someone killed him during his intestinal troubles, and Jaskier makes sure to dramatically questions what sort of person would do such a thing while pointedly not looking at Yennefer. Even so, he swear he can feel her eyes roll to the heavens. Not that he thinks Yennefer actually killed the man- this is just a glorious coincidence after all the times Jaskier has given her shit (pun always intended) for her suggestion years ago. No, if the witch wanted someone dead she wouldn’t need to slit their throat while they’re relieving themselves. The bard thinks she could do so with little more than a nudge at the Chaos surrounding her, and that it would be as fast and painless as she decided it should be.

__________

Jaskier has grown use to hard travels, but nothing prepares him for the dwarves’ pass. The thin planks look out on a nothingness so vast Jaskier fears if he falls he’ll die of hunger before ever reaching the ground. So naturally, he offers to let Yennefer go first, as she is the person he’d miss least out of the group. (And the only one able to portal her way out of such a fall, though Jaskier would deny that being a consideration.) His feet barely fit on the wooden planks, and he grips the chain with white knuckles never more thankful that his lute case straps across his chest.

Jaskier hearts flutters into his throat when he hears the crack of wood, expecting for the world to drop out from under him. By the time he realizes he isn’t plummeting to his demise, Véa and Téa are out of sight, and Geralt is straining to hold the chain Borch is clinging to. With a shout, he tries to inch forward, even as Geralt yells for him to stay back. The wood is still creaking ominously, and Jaskier has never felt more of kinship with Yennefer than upon seeing the panic on her face.

The bard cant help his sharp intake of breath upon hearing Borch calmly tell Geralt to let go. He knows Geralt wont- that’s not the type of person he is, he’ll try to save them until it’s too late. Apparently, Borch also knows this; Jaskier has to cover is mouth to force back any more cries as one by one, Borch, Véa, and Téa all let go and disappear into the clouds below. Never in his life has he seen something like this and, judging by his devastated face, neither has Geralt.

__________

Afterwards, he finds Geralt overlooking the mountains, with no Yennefer in sight. Jaskier struggles to find the right words, searching for anything that can make this better. Eventually he settles on trying to fill empty reassurances with as much love and comfort as he can, knowing that there isn’t much he can say to asway Geralt’s guilt. When his friend continues to stare out across the rocky expanse, Jaskier does what he has always done. He offers Geralt comfort and love, leaving it up for him to decide to accept. They could leave tomorrow- he was hired by Borch and the Witcher owes nothing to a dead man. They could leave and head to the coast; just be Geralt and Jaskier for a while, not a Witcher and his bard. Jaskier thinks that it might be nice to avoid the world, together.

He feels a little bit like crying when Geralt dismisses the proposal. (Do what pleases you, he said. What is he to the Witcher if he can offer no peace nor pleasure?)

But, his self-deprecating joke got a chuckle and Geralt is at least responding to him, so Jaskier thinks he’ll be okay. With time. Even so, that little triumph doesn’t stop his throat from feeling like it’s closing (no Djinn needed) as he watches Geralt head towards the witch’s tent.

__________

When Jaskier wakes up, it is as if every fear and insecurity he has ever had is collapsing in upon him. Geralt left him while he was sleeping. Geralt _left_ him. He awoke, clutching his lute, to an empty camp and his heart stuttered. Did he push too hard yesterday- too brazen in asking to run away together? Did he finally cross a line and Geralt decided he was more trouble than he’s worth?

Thankfully, he sees footprints leading further up the mountain, and follows them until he finds the dwarves seemingly stuck to the ground. Which isn’t very enlightening of the situation, but at least he knows where Yennefer went. Further along the path, his spirit nearly leaves his body when he collides with Véa and Téa, returned from the dead. The dwarves catch up, and Borch reappears- also not as dead as you would think, given Geralt’s guilt. The old man offers up dragon teeth and the threat of a dead dragon dropped on a royal wedding, and Jaskier has an unpleasant feeling settling in his stomach about what he thinks is going on.

__________

Geralt, Borch, and Yennefer provide too little in explanation before making their way back to camp. Jaskier manages to confirm the theory that had been churning in his gut- that Borch is a dragon. Though not _the_ dragon- thankfully he didn’t lure these people here just to kill them. Apparently, there was another, protecting her egg, and Jaskier feels the news stab through him. He’s not sure how he could turn any of this into a song (too depressing), but that doesn’t mean he still doesn’t want to know everything he missed.

Borch requests an audience with just Geralt and Yennefer, and Jaskier takes a seat out of earshot but still within sight. Geralt has disappeared on him once today- he is not repeating the experience. He’s not sure what he expected, but somehow, despite all prior knowledge of their relationship, Jaskier is surprised when the witch and Witcher begin to yell at each other. He can’t hear the whole argument, just snippets brought on the wind, but it’s enough to piece together what’s happened. Yennefer wants a child, and knows Geralt already has a Child of Surprise he’s given up.

Children aren’t something you can compromise on.

Jaskier isn’t sure what Borch says to the both of them, but it’s enough to make Yennefer leave. As she passes by, Jaskier leaps to his feet, already knowing Geralt is going to be more heartbroken than ever. Whatever happened, it seemed worse and more lasting than the squabbles the two inevitably fell into. He cautiously makes his way towards his friend, making brief eye contact with Borch when the dragon passes by.

Jaskier tries to lighten the situation- his ramblings and humor-based defense mechanisms have always worked in the past to distract Geralt. But not, it seems, today.

__________

There should be more fanfare, Jaskier thinks, when your world crumbles and your heart breaks. It should be more dramatic- there should be swelling music and some amount of poignantly meaningful flowers present. It should be raining. But they’re standing on a cliff side, surrounded by shrub and sunshine, and wind keeps blowing hair into his eyes. It’s quick, and jagged, and suddenly his heart is no longer in his body and neither of them seems to want to acknowledge that fact.

He’s torn between running and arguing his case. He knows he’s not the best with words; that if he tried to speak now, all that would come out was a stream of pleas and explanations. Mostly, he just feels oddly cold and numb- like the accusations thrown at him were too much for his body to handle, and it’s simply shut down. Nothing is working right, not his fingers or his voice- everything is frozen in a state of inaction trapped between two extremes. The words, when they do come, seem to originate from somewhere outside his body- he’ll get the story from someone else. That’s what this has all been about, isn’t it- the story?

The worst part is that he knows Geralt doesn’t mean it- not really. It would be easier, Jaskier thinks, if it had been intentional. At least then, Geralt would have been thinking of him and all that anger, all that passion, would have been because of him. But as it stands, Jaskier is just a casualty in Geralt and Yennefer’s relationship. The Witcher had been like a cornered animal, gnashing and growling at the world. He would have struck out at anyone who approached him then. Jaskier wasn’t special, he was only convenient. And that, that hurt the most in an odd, convoluted way- to not even be worthy of his anger.

If any of this had actually been about him, it would have been so much easier to handle.

__________

  
Only the dwarves are back at camp, and they know even less than Jaskier about what happened in the cave. So, all in all, this whole trip is a bust. If Borch and his two companions had stuck around then Jaskier may have been able to salvage something from this whole clusterfuck of a situation. Though he is thankful Yennefer has disappeared somewhere- the bard is barely hanging on by a thread of professionalism at this point and the witch’s presence would only have sent him over that edge. But as is, all he he learns from the mercenaries is that they had woken up early to face the dragon only to be frozen by the sorceress. 

Sitting in the remains of camp, Yarpen finally brings up a topic Jaskier was hoping to avoid.

“What’s a spoiled cunt of a Viscount doing with a Witcher in the ass crack of nowhere?” the leader barks out as Jaskier is finishing writing down the scant details the dwarven mercenary group has provided.

Jaskier freezes, fingers almost breaking the pen in their grasp. “My name is _Jaskier_ ” he tells the dwarf, voice flat besides the emphases the name he’s chosen for himself.

“Oh, I know what the fuck you’re calling yourself nowadays, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re some noble’s- “

The mercenary never finishes, as Jaskier has drawn his pretty silver blade and laid it neatly against the dwarf’s neck. “I am a bard named Jaskier, and that is all you know about me. Understood?” Jaskier is beyond playing any sort of games today. He doesn’t have the patience to try to reason, to twist pretty words into a convincing story. His world has just folded within itself and he’ll be damned if he lets some mercenary’s loud mouth ruin another part of his carefully crafted identity. With Yarpen’s promises of silence, Jaskier lets him go, running a hand over the etchings lining the dagger given to him so long ago.

__________

Staring at the empty fire pit, Jaskier wonders if he should wait. Geralt won’t apologize, not really, but he’ll be apologetic. He’ll do something like letting Jaskier ride Roach, not complaining about the singing, or stopping earlier and staying longer at taverns. Geralt will calm down and he’ll come back, if Jaskier just waits.  
  
Only, he’s getting a little tired of waiting.  
  
Jaskier has known Geralt for twenty-two years now; he’s spent more of his life knowing than man than not. In all this time Jaskier has convinced himself he’s been fine waiting, fine loving the Witcher with no guarantee that those feeling would ever be returned. And he was, honestly. (For the most part.)

But that was before.

Before Geralt let his anger get the better of him and carelessly threw barbed truths that had been buried deep in his mind. Before, when Geralt was a warm and light tune intertwining through his heart and not a cacophonous cry ringing in his head. He was happy to wait, knowing he had the comfort of a friend. But maybe he never even had that?  
  
  
Yes, Jaskier is tired of waiting.  
  
  
He knows he’ll run into Geralt again. They’ve crossed paths too many times without trying for the bard to think he can quietly disappear from his life. Maybe by then it won’t hurt as much. Maybe by then Jaskier can be stronger. But for now, he needs to run; gather what he can of the broken remains of his heart and piece together the parts he finds.

He bids farewell to the dwarves (who had all moved a respectable distance away as soon as Jaskier sheathed his blade) and set out on the path back. For the first time, in a long time, Jaskier makes his way down a mountain alone, not knowing when, or if, that will change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Fun fact- 2 (?) chapter ago I debated having Jaskier be the one who proposed killing someone when they're going to the bathroom, just for the humor of him making such a scene about how horrible that is and Gerlat and Yennefer silently being like, 'You! You would, Jaskier!' But ultimately I liked the idea that Yennefer suggested it and since then Jaskier has never let her live it down.


	8. The Road (Alone)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eventually, he takes refuge in the trees on the side of the road to cry. Which, honesty, should be more satisfying than it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. This is late. I'm so sorry about how long this took- I work in public health and this last month has been, as I'm sure it's been for everyone . . . a lot. Thank you so much for sticking with me through this; we're almost done! Also, a huge thank you to those of you who asked how I was doing- it was very sweet of you and honestly really helped get me motivated again to write!
> 
> Hope you all have the means to stay safe and healthy; take care.

Eventually, he takes refuge in the trees on the side of the road to cry. Which, honesty, should be more satisfying than it is. Jaskier had hoped crying could help get the feelings out; that he could sob a little bit and it would release all of the betrayal and loneliness (the _anger_ ) he was fermenting in on his trudge down the mountain. Instead he emerges from the forest, throat raw and eyes swollen, with little more understanding than he had entered with. He is still heart broken, still shattered, and no amount of tears are going to change that. All that ends up happening is that he still feels as miserable as he was before, but now, also, his chest is aching, and his breathing is wet and labored.

Jaskier fumbles his way down the rest of the mountain, stumbling and gasping over obstacles he had easily tred before. (Jaskier, despite all his silks and courtly manners, is a traveling bard first and foremost and is never, until now, so clumsy without purpose.) He is a mess, and he is still a mess when he reaches Roach to frantically going through her bags. Roach, his sweet girl, is still waiting patiently at the bottom of the hill, where the Witcher left her. Jaskier approaches her without his usual aplomb and supposes he can’t be too offended with she shies away from him. Even though he has spent years building a relationship with the horse, his brusque movements and lack of preening still result in her braying and shifting uncomfortably from side to side. Without the Witcher, Jaskier’s presence is foreign and upsetting- the lack of his usual companion signaling to the horse that something is wrong. Nevertheless, the bard is quick to lean in and stroke her neck, muttering assurances in an attempt to make up for his unintended rough attitude and the lack of her favorite person. Roach eventually settles again, though she still looks over his shoulder at the trail he made his way down. 

“I’m so sorry, my sweet girl,” Jaskier croons, “he’s not coming right now. It’s just me at the moment, and I need to get my things.” Roach snorts, shaking her head, but doesn’t nip at him while he searches for his belongings in the saddle bags that were left near the horse.

There isn’t much to retrieve.

Jaskier fills a satchel with his clothes, notes, and some coin. (He only takes enough to see him through the next two weeks- all in all a substantial discount from his usual performance fee considering how long he’s accompanied the Witcher.) The bard supposes he won’t need the camping equipment he’s accumulated over the years, being less inclined to sleep outside without his normal travel companion. The end result is light, serving as a reminder of just how much of his life has become irreversibly intertwined with the Witcher’s. Jaskier supposes it’s for the best; he’ll need to travel light to flit from city to city without a horse. (He supposes it for the best he leaves as many memories behind as he can.)

Looking around, Jaskier yanks a small yellow flower from the ground and loops it into Roach’s mane, careful of knots but foregoing the usual braiding. (When he notices the crushed petals, he somehow feels like crying all over again.) This way Roach’s owner will know Jaskier was here retrieving his belongings and the he hasn’t been robbed.

With a final pat on her neck and a watery smile, Jaskier continues on towards the town they started this whole debacle in. At Roach’s whinnying he feels his heart clench but continues on, refusing to look back.

__________

In all the time he’s known Geralt, Roach hasn’t changed at all. Jaskier wonders if Witchers’ have a secret way to keep their horses in top condition, or if something else happened to make her un-aging.

He wonders if it’s the same thing that happened to him.

It has been almost twenty-two years since Jaskier met Geralt (almost a quarter of a century!) and only the vaguest hardening of his eyes shows it. He’s turned forty and still looks and feels around thirty. The bard likes to joke he’s won the ageing lottery, but part of him wonders if being around so much magic for so long has done something to him. Maybe the djinn situation had unknown side effects. Maybe he touched something, or ate something, or . . .. 

He hadn’t really noticed until recently- spending most of your time around, powerful, never aging beings tends to skew your perception of what’s normal. It wasn’t until he was spending the night with, what he thought was, an older man that the realization had hit him with almost a physical force. His partner had been complimenting the bard’s youth and vitality, lamenting his own age. When Jaskier asked how old he was, he had almost laughed before the dread had creeped in. The man had only been a few years older than himself.

The signs had been there, Jaskier supposes, he just didn’t want to see them. Time had long ago lost most of its meaning for him, years blurring together into one adventure after another. He kept track of his engagements, of course, but somehow, he had looked up from the details of life and a quarter of a century had passed. Now he makes a point to look more closely at the people who are supposedly the same age as him. At their wrinkles, the grey starting in their hair, at their children- their grandchildren.

Sometimes he stays up at night, tracing the unnaturally smooth lines of his face, wondering what they indicate. (Humans age. He hasn’t.) But he quickly lets his vanity and denial smoother those worries deep down inside himself.

__________

Eternity hadn’t seemed so foreboding when Geralt was here; also un-aging and unchanging. Now, the thought of forever, alone, leaves Jaskier reeling and quickly trying to forget the undeniable revelation of his own lack of age. 

__________

He spends the night in the Barefield tavern drinking. A number of people notice his lute and try to cajole him to perform, but Jaskier waves them off with a forced smile. (Though maybe they know it’s forced. No one asks twice.) He isn’t in the mood to inspire merriment in others. He came to this tavern with a purpose- if crying didn’t work, maybe drinking would.

__________

Jaskier keeps an eye fixed on the door, hoping, against all reason, that the man he loves will barge though it. He can’t help but wish that Geralt will prowl into the tavern, searching desperately for the bard after realizing the mistake he made, apology ready. Jaskier entertains all the ways their reconciliation could play out, the things either of them might say. Sometimes he imagines yelling at the Witcher the way he had shouted at him. Other times he thinks about Geralt apologizing, begging for Jaskier to forgive him. (Though that one’s hard to picture.) Mostly though, he just wants Geralt to walk in and sit down next to him as if nothing even happened. (Deep down he knows they can’t just pick up where they left off, that something has been irreparably broken.)

Each scenario he imagines helps quell the rage that’s been whispering to him, but the lack of it leaves him with a hollow emptiness in his chest.

__________

Nothing happens the way he imagines it, of course. The Witcher doesn’t appear out of the night, and drinking doesn’t numb the pain so much as it just makes him less disinclined to cry in public. He’s at least thankful that it isn’t the loud, gasping sobs from earlier in the day, but even still he tries, and fails, to staunch the quite tears that are escaping intermittently from him. The other patrons had begun to avoid eye contact once the first drop fell, and now refuse to even glance at the corner he’s situated himself in.

(Jaskier doesn’t blame them.)

Part of him wants to seek out a partner for the night, one who won’t mind the tears, so he can try to forget this day in the arms of someone else. He wants to feel important to someone, even for a second. The drunker he gets, the more he craves the validation of it- to prove that he’s desirable, _wanted_. To prove that even if his Witcher can send him away, Jaskier can still trick someone else into thinking he’s worth keeping around. His personality is obviously not why people spend time with him, so maybe he can give them another reason to hold on.

__________

(As much as he’d like to blame it on drunkenness, Jaskier can’t help but wonder if he’s always been too annoying, too needy, for any real connection.)

__________

It’s once these thoughts start spinning around his head as much as the tavern is that he finally makes his way, by himself, back to room he’s rented. As much as he’d like to use someone to try to forget his woes and reinforce his own (distorted version of) self-worth, no one in the bar seemed interested in a drunk, crying, bard. So, he falls, alone, on to the thin mattress, still trying to find some greater meaning or justification for his drunken thoughts.

__________

(There isn’t one. He’s just sad and lonely; trying to find any excuse or escape to blame his own behavior on.)

__________

Despite his hangover, Jaskier leaves the tavern fairly early in the morning.

Barefiled is the largest town on the outskirts of the Caingorn mountains, and even if he assumes he’s gained a day over Geralt with his early departure, he knows he needs to head out soon to avoid running into anyone from the dragon hunt party. And he really doesn’t want to run into anyone from the dragon hunting party.

Which means he drags his nauseous and aching body past the bar, past the bartender who won’t look at him, and out the door. (Jaskier thinks that if he saw someone drunkenly crying the night before he probably wouldn’t want to make eye contact either.)

Jaskier isn’t usually a sad drunk, and he certainly isn’t one to sleep with someone for any reason other than the fact that he wants to. But last night had been different. As much as he wants to place the blame solely on the alcohol, he knows those thoughts had to have come from somewhere. They were a song he had drowned out with his love and adoration; with adventures and the knowledge he was gaining. But it was still a melody of deprecation that played in his soul, waiting for the chance to surge to the spotlight once Jaskier had nothing left to stifle it with. Jaskier had tied his life, his sense of self, so completely with Geralt’s that when the Witcher finally sent him away, the bard had been left crumbling. He was still crumbling. But last night could have gone much worse, and he knows it can’t happen again.

So, he makes his way south, away from the man he’s left his heart with, the man he devoted his life to. The only solution he can come up with for all of this is that he needs to be alone for a while. He needs to figure out who he is if he’s not a Witcher’s bard.

__________

Jaskier finishes the song. He gives up on trying to make it only about Geralt and Yennefer, on trying to keep his own emotions out of it. He normally doesn’t like to include himself in his songs, prefering to be the teller and not the story, but he finds comfort in crooning his longing. And in blaming the sorceress for continuously storming into their lives only to leave destruction in her wake. (He knows this isn’t her fault, not really. She didn’t make Geralt say those things, and she didn’t make Jaskier follow him unrequitedly, but he still can’t help but think this wouldn’t have happened without her.)

The result is too raw, too honest, for Jaskier to be comfortable with. He hates how, despite how he’s trying to recreate a life that doesn’t include the Witcher, the song contains the truth- he would return to Geralt’s side if the man would have him.

Even so, there is a certain catharsis in singing his own pain for a crowd, to have them acknowledge it, cry for it. The pain and numbness leave him, a note at a time, with every stanza sung, letting him breathe a little easier. Though there are lines the bard’s voice still cracks on, no matter how many times Jaskier convinces himself that, this time, the song won’t get to him.

__________

“I’m _weak_ , my love, and I am wanting.”

__________

Jaskier doesn’t expect the song to be popular. He honestly thought it would be too depressing for the tavern crowds, that he would sing it a few times for his own healing, then leave it behind with the rest of the Witcher. But it becomes one of his most requested songs, mostly late into the night when the patrons are up for the bittersweet remembrance of love lost, but even, sometimes, as the first song to be called out to the bard. (It’s just his luck, he supposes, that the one song about his own heartbreak is one of his most popular.)

He would be more annoyed by that if he’d been able to escape his other songs about Geralt. While most of the bard's ballads are well received, it’s the ones about the White Wolf that really sell. Jaskier can’t avoid singing them- not if he wants a place to stay and food to eat. He supposes he should be flattered that his songs are so beloved by people (he is, of course, he wouldn’t keep singing them if he wasn’t) but it can’t stop the faint resentment that this is another thing essential to his life that the Witcher has managed to weave himself into. Jaskier knows they’re still his songs- his lyrics, his music, his voice; but he worries that without his muse, they won’t hold the same appeal.

__________

It’s been three months since the Caingorn mountains, and Jaskier’s voice still breaks in the middle of “Her Sweet Kiss”. He’s been trying to reestablish to himself that he is worth something without the Witcher- that he can still make music with his muse missing. Song writing is slow, but it’s happening, and Jaskier even finds himself smiling over unfinished lyrics and humming new refrains. But even with his returning inspiration, he still finds himself alone some nights, clinging to a pillow full of tears and spit after the pain suddenly hits him and he’s left sobbing in whatever room he’s gotten. He wishes it wasn’t always an uphill battle to feel better; that he would finally reach the point where he’d stop backsliding. That he could just decide not to care anymore. But that’s not how healing works- Jaskier himself has said things like this take time. Still, he just wishes everything wasn’t so hard.

__________

In Redania, Jaskier finishes his set, and secures an ale for himself, before settling into a booth. He’d received several admiring looks during his performance and is debating with whom to share a drink and some more personal time with when _she_ shows up. Well, showed up may not be the correct verb, so much as she finally makes herself known. The witch emerges form the back of the bar, clad in a violet so deep it’s almost black that leaves Jaskier in a state of envy for her style and the attention she commands. Long ago he had the uncomfortable realization that if he didn’t actually know her, he would have wanted to sleep with the sorceress. Even now, he laments that he catches himself taking an appreciative glance. (Beauty is beauty, he supposes, even when it’s tainted by the prickly feelings of uncontrolled Chaos and resentment.) While Yennefer’s tastes have always leaned darker than his own, there is something to be said about her understanding of dressing for an occasion. It just so happens that the current occasion is (as it is usually) scaring the shit out of Jaskier. 

The sorceress eventually takes a seat across from the bard and an ale, one of the good brands, is instantly placed in front of her. She’s smiling slightly, which unnerves Jaskier more than anything else she could have ever done.

“That song was about me, wasn’t it?” she asks with an amused look in here eyes. “Or, at least, some of it was about me.”

“Sweet Melitele, and here I though the one good thing about all of. . .” Jaskier searches for a word to accurately sum up his situation but settles on “this” with a sweeping handwave “was that at least I wouldn’t have to see you again.”

Yennefer snorts before raising her ale and continuing. “Oh, come now, Jaskier, Geralt isn’t here- there’s no need for the dramatic show. You don’t have to posture; he can’t see it.” She takes a drink but keeps her gaze on the man across form her, eyebrow raised.

Jaskier tries to suppress his flinch upon hearing the Witcher’s name. “I assure you this isn’t a show, witch, this is just the natural reaction any sane person should have when facing a monster.”

The sorceress’s eyes narrow and she spits out, “The sane reaction upon seeing a monster is to flee, but I wouldn’t count you among those numbers anyways. I mean, what sane person falls in love with a Wither?”

“Yes, well, I never claimed to be sane.” Jaskier responds with a shrug of his shoulders.

Yennefer doesn’t have a barb prepared for that, and if Jaskier had to guess, he’d say she looks surprised. They sit in an awkward silence for a few moments before the she finally responds. “Well. May I ask if this is a new revelation? I assumed the tension between us was due to jealousy brought upon by your unacknowledged feelings.”

“No, there’s nothing unacknowledged about them- I’ve loved him pretty much since I met him twenty-two years ago.” Jaskier states, trying to sound nonchalant but also having the startling realization that this is the first time he’s ever mentioned his feelings so directly. And it’s to Yennefer, of all people. “I’ve never been in denial about how I feel, and I think I’ve been pretty obvious about it. I know you’re trying to shame me, but I’m not going to be embarrassed about this. I never have been.” Jaskier’s confidence grows with each word- even with the Witcher’s rejection, he’s loved (loves) Geralt for most of his life. Yes, those feelings have been twisted back upon him, but he remembers the clarity with which they had taken root within him (and still grows now). Jaskier loved(s) Geralt, and that has never been, and remains, nothing to be ashamed of. His feelings for the Witcher were never a secret he kept, never something he hoarded close to his heart, but rather something he's shared with the world. His love has filled every song, every note he’s strummed, since he was eighteen. The witch isn’t exposing some deep dark secret he’s kept even form himself; she’s just stating a fact.

Yennefer definitely looks surprised now, but it’s quickly hidden behind a mask. “But you don’t like me?” She settles on.

“I’ve already told you why I don’t like you, Yennefer. You’re cruel. I just hate you a little bit more because you’re cruel to somebody I love.” (Jealously does actually play a part, but not as much as she thinks.) Jaskier wonders, briefly, about what sort of life Yennefer must have lived that love is only a repressed, unspoken thing. But then he remembers his own thoughts since his and his companions break, and Jaskier thinks he understands a little better.

“Well, he’s not here with you, either, is he?” she bites out.

Jaskier’s shoulders slump as he looks away from the sorceress. “No, I suppose he isn’t.”

Yennefer states at the bard, then sighs and finishes her drink. “I think we’re going to need a few more drinks in us before we have any sort of a constructive conversation. I’ll cover it, of course, looking at the state you’re in it’d be cruel to make you pay.” She flags over the barmaid and Jaskier is quick to finish his own drink. He could argue he looks perfectly fine, but then again, who is he to deny free drinks?

__________

Most of the conversation is bland platitudes- though even those can get oddly heated. Yennefer insists that Jaskier could stand to be more understated, but elegant, in his dress, while Jaskier loudly maintains she would look stunning in emerald. (Really, with her complexion and eye color it would just make her “pop”.)

It isn’t until they’re six drinks in that Jaskier asks, before he can think, “Can I braid your hair?” At Yennefer’s bewildered face he continues, “I used to braid my sisters’ all the time, and it was quite relaxing- I got really good at it. I’ve only braided a few peoples’ hair since then- most people get weird about it if you ask. Well, a few peoples’ and Roach’s. I used to braid so many flowers in her mane- I really hope my sweetest girl is doing alright, Geralt forgets how much she likes being pampered, and- “Jaskier is cut off as Yennefer shoves a hand over his mouth.

“Fine. You can braid my hair if you promise to stop talking.” Yennefer drunkenly acquiesces.

__________

Jaskier nods, but he thinks they both know he’s lying.

__________

Back in his room, sitting on the bed behind the witch, Jaskier centers himself in the rough, thick, texture of Yennefer’s hair. “I don’t understand why you don’t do more with this.” Jaskier complains, dividing her hair into sections. Her hair, frustratingly enough, is perfect for styling though she only wears it down or pulled back in a messy bun. He’s had too much to drink to attempt anything truly elaborate, but he thinks he can still create fairly simple design. Yennefer would look good with her hair pulled back, as a change.

The sorceress leans slightly into his ministrations. “Hmmm. When I was young, I never had anyone to teach me. After Arestuza, I never wanted anyone that close.”

Jaskier isn’t sure whether to flattered or offended that she doesn’t see him as a threat. Sure, he wasn’t the best fighter, but he was still armed, and she was still letting her head rest in his hands, neck exposed. (She hadn’t just meant physical threats.)

“So” she starts, eyes closing as her hair is played with, “That song was about you just as much as it was about me, wasn’t it?”

Jaskier forces a laugh, letting his hands fall through the rhythmic motions of the first braid. “I suppose it was a bit of self-indulgence on my part. I didn’t expect anyone to actually _like_ it. Now it feels a bit like I’m revealing my heartbreak at every tavern.”

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Jaskier isn't sure who is more surprised at the question- him or Yennefer. But, oddly enough, he does. Sitting before him is one of the few people in the world, maybe the only, who could understand- who knows Geralt almost as well as he does, and also lost him. And, Jaskier supposes, her anger at Geralt is enough to put up listening even to Jaskier, just to hear about something horrible her ex has done. So he tells her. He tells her about the anger, about every accusation hurled at him. About how the Witcher never followed him. He thinks it's a sign of growth that, though his voice grew heavy, he didn't cry. Or mess up the witch's hair.

Once he finishes, Yennefer snorts, “Gods, Geralt is awful, isn’t he? As if you're powerful enough to decree fate.” Jaskier pulls on a strand of hair half-heartedly in retaliation, though the witch doesn’t seem to notice. “Did you know he had the gall to say I’d be a bad mother? He already has a child of surprise that he’s abandoned, and he says _I'd_ be a bad mother. At least I _want_ a child- and he goes ahead and mocks me for wanting something he’s thrown away.”

Jaskier isn’t really sure how he’s supposed to respond to this revelation and moves on another braid. He has his own feelings about how the princess situation should have been handled, but it tastes too much like a betrayal to voice them. And he's certainly not going to comment on Yennefer's fitness as a mother.

“And now here you are, on your own. Another lovely thing Geralt has abandoned because he’s too scared to care about anything that matters.” Yennefer’s smile suddenly turns harsh “Well, I suppose he loved me, didn’t he? As much as he can love anyone.”

Jaskier grabs both of the braids he’s made a give a sharp tug. This time the witch hisses at the pull.

“No need to get rough, bard. It wasn’t an insult against you” she hisses.

Jaskier ‘hmm’s (a habit he unknowingly picked up from Geralt) and returns to finishing up the braiding.

Yennefer suddenly sobers, rage leaving her with a rush and lowered shoulders. “You once told me everything in life is a choice. So, is this still a choice?” she asks, voice small.

Jaskier sighs and lets the sorceress’s hair drop, finished, on her back. “I knew what I was getting into. I knew he might never love me. I wasn’t expecting such an . . . aggressive rejection, and I forgot, for a while, that rejection was an option. But I still made the decision to stay, and to love him year after year, knowing he probably wouldn’t return my feelings. Loving him was a choice, and it’s one I made happily. Infatuation is one thing, Yennefer, but a long lasting, loving, relationship? Every day of that is a choice. I’m not saying that you can turn on or off those feelings, because gods know right know I’d want to turn off the part of me that cares about him. But a relationship? That is a series of choices you make constantly to either grow or end. You just have to figure out what makes you happy.” Jaskier aches a bit, echoing the advice he gave to Geralt, what feels like, so long ago.

Yennefer gives a half laugh, before turning around towards Jaskier. “Those are pretty words for someone who hasn’t been tied to someone by fate and a djinn’s wish. I have no choice but to be caught in something I didn't ask for.” She glares at Jaskier. “What would you do, then? If fate forced you into something you didn’t want?”

“I’d change it” Jaskier snaps back, without hesitation. “I wouldn’t be here complaining, I would be living life I wanted.” He takes a breath before continuing, the wine lubricating his tongue. “I was born with my life planned out, Yennefer. What I was supposed to be, who I would marry, gods, even the number of children I would have- it was all decided before I could even read. But I didn’t want it. So, I left. I’ve made my own identity; I’ve made my own choices. I gave up one life for another. I don’t regret it, and I certainly don’t sit here and think about how fate fucked me over.”

The sorceress looks up at Jaskier with narrowed eyes, analyzing. “Well, if everything is a choice, then you’d have no problem saying “no” to Geralt if he ever asked you to travel with him again?”

Jaskier shifts uncomfortably, which the witch latches onto. “Oh, are you saying you’d go back? That despite all your reasoning, it wouldn’t actually be a choice?”

He breaths out hard from his nose. “I’d still know what I was getting into- returning would still be a choice.”

  
“A foolish one” Yennefer scoffs.

  
Jaskier smiles, though its hardly happy. “Aren’t you always saying I’m an idiot?”

  
She rolls her eyes. “No, I’m always saying you’re _acting_ like an idiot; there is a difference. Despite how you may portray yourself, you’re not actually stupid. So, my advice is this- make him beg for it. You’re not a dog, Jaskier, stop running when your master calls.”

This is the closest thing to a compliment Yennefer has ever given him, and Jaskier is left speechless.

She stands and looks in the mirror. “Oh, this is quite nice, actually. I may have to call upon your services again.” She sighs before turning back to him. “But really, Jaskier, you deserve better. We both deserve better.” Before he can argue, she reaches down and pats his head, then disappears through a portal, leaving nothing but confusion and the ozone smell of Chaos behind her.

__________

Jaskier supposes that he’d been so focused on being afraid of the destruction a storm wrecks, he had forgotten they still brought rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look Netflix, you can't use the same horse for what's supposed to be over 30 years and not age up Jaskier and not have me immediately think 'oh good they're immortal and will never die before Geralt'
> 
> Also, I read somewhere that Jaskier is implied to be part elf in the books, but my favorite Jaskier-is-imortal head cannon is that he can unknowingly do bardic magic and sang fantasy Forever Young and accidentally-ed his way into immortality. Though that's not necessarily cannon to this fic. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading- stay safe!


	9. The Road (Interlude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years ago, Jaskier felt that he had mastered the skill of tracking the White Wolf across the Continent. Nowadays, he still feels it’s a skill he’s mastered, even if during the last couple of months he’s been utilizing it for the opposite purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Shows up almost a year late with Starbucks* Wow, so I blinked and time happened, huh. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck around! I'm actually breaking this last bit into 2 chapters, so if the last isn't up yet give it a minuet. I'm so sorry for how long this took, it was 2020 and that the only excuse I have. But- its done! And this last bit is almost a fourth of the entire word count because I am not great gauging how long sections are going to be. Anyways, thank you again for reading and hope you enjoy!

Years ago, Jaskier felt that he had mastered the skill of tracking the White Wolf across the Continent. Nowadays, he still feels it’s a skill he’s mastered, even if during the last couple of months he’s been utilizing it for the opposite purpose. Instead of flying towards the mere hint of a Witcher in the area, he calmly leaves whatever tavern he’s entered then gets the hell out of town (He has an image to maintain and rushing out of bars is bad enough without adding the panicking). Nowadays, even the complaint of a monster infestation is enough to run Jaskier out of whatever village he’s currently finding patronage.

He’s learned the signs; the monster corpses and the old firepits, the relieved townsfolk and the splatters of black blood- all the opening notes of a ballad he’s heard time and again. Yes, Jaskier has mastered tracking his (the- he means the. He keeps forgetting) Witcher. But, still, sometimes you can’t outrun luck.

__________

(It’s not just luck.)

__________

Which is how Jaskier finds himself stumbling upon a campsite, devoid of people, but plentiful in a particularly ornery horse. It’s been almost five months since the mountain top; since Jaskier’s world collapsed in upon itself. He’s been traveling, distracting himself with performances and new songs, but the pain still gnaws in his chest- a discordant hum he hasn’t been able to drown out.

Roach whinnies when she sees him, tugging at the rope securing her to a tree. With a curse, Jaskier rushes forward to rub calmingly at her neck, quieting her with soft affirmations. She leans briefly into the touch before seemingly remembering how long the bard has been missing and pushes at his shoulder with her head.

Jaskier stumbles back with a laugh, “I know, my sweet girl, I missed you too.” He fishes an apple out of his pack (carrying horse friendly snacks was never a habit he could shake) and offers it to her while looking around the clearing.

He had left his last appearance thinking he’d be able to make the next town before nightfall, but as the sun descended, so did Jaskier’s hopes of not sleeping outside. Apparently, the bard hadn’t been the only one looking for somewhere to spend the night. Though the current lack of Witcher indicates that maybe Jaskier was lucky to not have attempted this trip even a day earlier. He hadn’t heard of any monsters terrorizing this region, but he can’t imagine the Witcher is missing for any other reason. His bedroll is still furled upon his packs next to Roach, and no fire has been lite. (Besides if he was out taking a piss, the Witcher would have heard someone lurking around his camp by now.) So, it’s more than likely he is out on a hunt, rather than away collecting firewood, or any other task that’d keep him close by.

As Roach finishes her snack, Jaskier knows he needs to leave. Damn the encroaching night, he can’t risk running into the Witcher returning from his hunt. He isn’t ready. The bard has played this scene over and over in his head, and none of the iterations have turned out great for him. They mostly end in embarrassment, or heartbreak (Well, further heartbreak.)

Still, Jaskier marvels at how easy it would be to just, sit down. To stoke a fire to life and lose himself in the familiarity. He can already imagine the warmth of the flames, the sound of Roach’s breaths, the feel of lute strings or a sharpening stone under his fingertips. The glow of golden eyes gazing upon him from the darkness of the forest or, better yet, how they blaze with the fire when they’re next to him. Jaskier could stay and pretend nothing happened.

__________

But something did happen. And he isn’t ready to confront that yet. He may be a man in his 40’s, but he is still figuring out who he is, and he can’t do that with the Witcher around. There is comfort in familiarity, in pretending nothing has changed and wrapping yourself in delusions disguised as forgiveness. But Jaskier has never been one to lie to himself- has never been one to live in denial or to be scared of his own heart. (Sure, there are some things he’d rather not think about- but he’s never pretended they didn’t exist). He has always chased what he’s wanted and acknowledged what he’s needed. And right now, he needs more time. Luckily, it seems that time may be the one thing he has on his side.

__________

Jaskier knows the Witcher will suspect someone was here, the other man always seemed to know when someone, or something, had been sniffing around camp. Whether that was through smell, or some innate primal instinct, the bard has never been able to figure out. Either way, it would always result in them quickly packing up camp and moving; the Witcher’s eyes sharp and searching for possible dangers in the trees. Even settling in a new campsite did little to calm the tension prowling through Jaskier’s companion’s body. 

__________

Despite everything, he doesn’t want Geralt to worry.

__________

The bard has always admired the tenacity of weeds, the way they push against both stone and drought to blossom. He named himself after their perseverance, after all. A common flower, sure, but one that is persistent and hard to ignore. Which is all a bard can hope to be.

__________

So, it’s no surprise to see the yellow flowers growing in the clearing. With a chuckle, he plucks a handful before combing his fingers through Roach’s mane in familiar motions. He hopes the yellow flowers entwined with the horse’s hair will let the Witcher relax, help him realize who stumbled upon his camp. Well, let him and his companion relax, Jaskier thinks as he notices the extra bedroll still tied upon Roach’s back while he braids the horses’ hair. He’d say it was his own old, yet recently unused bedroll, but he knows the Witcher doesn’t carry around superfluous things. Surely, he would have thrown away anything Jaskier had left with him by now? (It is the same bedroll, though both would deny it for the same reason.)

Even distracted, Jaskier finishes his embellished plating of Roach’s mane, complete with flowers interspersed within the design. She presses her head at his shoulder again, and he rubs her neck affectionately.

“Now, you watch out for him, alright?”, Jaskier pretends to command as Roach huffs. “Really,” he insists, “I may want to actually talk to him at some point, so you need to make sure he makes it that long.” Jaskier ends the sentence with a laugh as Roach almost knocks him over with her nuzzling.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” he says, sobering, “I’m so sorry I have to leave, but please do keep an eye on him. You know how he gets.”

With that, the bard backs away, and tries to ignore how the horse pulls against her tether in after him. (Her human is such a confusing animal, with a small herd scattered across many grazing plains; with a territory that changes daily. She loves him anyways, despite his inability to keep his herd within sight).

__________

It’s hard to leave. To detach himself from the pull of the normalcy he has spent years cultivating. It’s difficult to abandon the time he has invested in making the abnormal, the normal. The “Sunken Cost Fallacy” he think’s he’s heard from some of the intellectual types. The idea that a person will continue to fund a hopeless venture simply because they’ve already divested too many resources into it.

Maybe his love of the Witcher is a sunken cost- a gamble he will never see the spoils of. Nevertheless, after all this time, it’s still an investment he wants to preserve; one he willingly gave, and one he would willing see returned, in whatever manor it could be.

Just . . . not right now. Now, he needs to keep traveling, and performing. He still needs to figure out who his is without a Witcher’s influence. Jaskier doesn’t doubt his love for the man, but he does doubt his own ability to not completely wrap his identify, his life, within another’s adventures. No, the bard isn’t afraid of his own heart, and he isn’t one to deny it. But right now, it’s telling him that this meeting isn’t meant to happen yet.

__________

Despite his best attempts, he keeps running into Yennefer, with a frequency that makes him doubt coincidence is the only factor involved with their meetings. The uncharitable part of himself thinks that she only finds him as a work around for her own enchantment. That whatever wish Geralt made that forced her to be drawn to him, she can trick by finding Jaskier instead. (The two, at one point, were probably close enough to appease a curse into thinking that finding Jaskier was just a step in finding Geralt.)

Surprisingly, the encounters aren’t all awful. Yennefer shows up sporadically in his life, and with each interaction Jaskier finds himself drinking less to counteract the awkwardness and more just for fun. (If he notices Yennifer also relaxing, it’s something he’s never commented on.) He thinks they’ve both chosen to ignore the one time he forgot himself and actually _smiled_ upon seeing her. Mortifying.

But he can’t deny that it isn’t nice to have a travel companion, of a sort, again. Someone to break up the monotony that is surprisingly fallen into when one is just a roaming bard and no longer a Witcher’s bard. Now that the witch is stalking him across the Continent, his life is interrupted with a surprisingly regular amount of chaos. When Yenn decides to find him, the usual cyclical flow of traveling, performing, and chattering with his admirers, is jarringly halted by the woman breezing through. Without much warning, the bard is whisked out of normality and up into his room, bottles of wine passing between the two of them as they trade gossip and insults. Jaskier will never admit it, least of all to her, but Yennefer is becoming something of a friend to him.

Though getting to know the witch means the bard has started to see her as a conglomerate of the sisters he’s had- though complete with parts he never wanted. He remembers Zofia and her firm and sure voice. Felka with her stubborn, and passionate, objections- a counterpart to her twin, Gizela; quiet, but always observing. Lydia with her quick mind off in some newly read work, and Halina, so small (last he saw her, at least) but already grasping at all she could in life.

Jaskier sees these chords of them in every interaction he has with Yennefer, and he both hates and loves her a little bit for that.

__________

He doesn’t regret leaving his life as a Viscount, but he does miss his sisters. Julian was the oldest (though Jaskier knows he no longer looks it) and he was the one who his sister ran to for advice and comfort. He was their touchstone; solving rifts before they could become divides. It was his job to sneak into their rooms at night, to hold them when they cried, and sing them asleep while gentle fingers combed through their hair. (Their father never seemed to hold the same vitriol for the girls that he appeared to have for Julian, but that didn’t make him a kind man.)

Jaskier knows they must be doing well (he hasn’t heard of Lettenhove falling into disarray yet), but he can’t help but lament the time he’s missed with them, how he’s almost all but disappeared from their lives. The bard can’t imagine his parents have allowed his stories, if they even recognized them as his, to propagate within their walls; and he hasn’t dared return to his childhood home.

Jaskier love for his sisters has never lessened, though he hasn’t seen them for more than a few hours at a time in over two decades. A few years into his self-imposed banishment, he had finally felt confident enough to meet up with Zoffie- late at night, a town over, and both wearing hideous cloaks (In the end, it hadn’t been a conversation so much as the two crying at each other). The sporadic meetings with his sisters had continued throughout the years; always trying to avoid the attention of their parents, and now, their husbands. These meetings are never as often or as long as Jaskier would like, and recently he hasn’t had the nerve to set up any at all, scared they would finally notice he hasn’t aged with them. He tries to keep in written correspondence, but at this point he wouldn’t know how to approach his family without multiple levels of subterfuge even if they were presented in front of him.

__________

When the bard hears the distant notes of his sisters in Yennefer’s voice a small, resentful, bit of him _hates_ her for the reminder. He knows its irrational. It’s not her fault that he sees shadows of his sisters in her, or that his own sisters are growing older than him as time ticks on, with Jaskier trapped in stasis. He knows it is not the witch’s fault he hasn’t really seen his family in over 20 years- but he does know there must be a magical explanation for his un-aging. And she is the most convenient magical outlet.

But that’s alright- neither him nor the witch can claim to be particularly good people. They can both hate each other a little and still continue to grow their strange relationship. Yennefer manages to worm her way into his life, despite both reminding the other of things they’ve lost. Of the many things Jaskier dislikes about Yennifer, he can’t find it within himself to deny the companionship she offers, or the link she unknowingly creates to his dearly remembered, though long unseen, sisters.

__________

The months pass quickly. Faster than he thought they would, at least, considering that his first few months traveling alone had been a painful slog of waking up and forcing himself to smile and perform before collapsing into bed. But each day, it gets a little easier to wake up, a little easier to smile without faking it. (And some days, it gets a whole lot harder.) But all in all, Jaskier is surprised to realize he was a little bit proud of himself for being able to just, live a life. (A malicious part of himself sometimes whispers that it’s a pathetic thing to be proud of, but Jaskier is quick to silence it. He’s fought too hard for that to be true.)

Most of his life had been spent entangled within the Witcher- both his career and personal life had been, seemingly, completely and unequivocally entwined with the man. But now, Jaskier knows he can enrapture a crowd with songs about love and heartbreak, fantasy and legends- it’s not just the ballads about the White Wolf that make him popular. He knows he can perform with just as much vivacity and passion as before without the Witcher’s comforting presence at his back.

__________

“The last thing I want is someone needing me”, Geralt had once said. And Jaskier thinks he understands now. As much as he still loves and misses Geralt, he now knows that he doesn’t _need_ him.

__________

Jaskier has loved enough people to know that you never really stop loving someone. Not completely. And definitely not when you’ve loved someone so long that the love for them has become engrained within your own being. No, the people we love never really leave us. They can be found in a smile, in a song- in a touch that’s familiar in too many ways. Love isn’t a finite source, something you transfer from one person to another. It’s a growing symphony in your soul; ever expanding and ever changing. Sometimes a line fades, but there is always a segment left playing, ringing out whenever it is brought to the forefront.

But Jaskier can’t live his life defined by these loves. The Witcher’s harsh words on the mountain were enough to reinforce that idea. Love is wonderous, and fun, and so, so hard- and sometimes Jaskier lets himself be lost in all the emotions. Even so, the bard still needs to be a person outside of love. He isn’t defined by the people that love him. He is a person, making his own way in the world, and any love he manages to scavenge out it is just an added bonus.

__________

It’s when he is performing, the crowd singing along to his newest, non-monster related, hit that the realization strikes him fast and with a force that almost physically knocks him back.

He will always love Geralt. But he doesn’t _need_ him. He can live- he can _thrive_ , without him.

There is something both comforting and liberating in that.

__________

The bard makes his way back to his room, alone, that night. Epiphanies always seem to be rather inconsiderate, striking out of nowhere- suddenly connecting the pieces of abridged works into one without any warning.

And now he is left with the fall out.

When he forces himself to think about the mountain, Jaskier no longer feels the resentment and pain he once did. Yes, he still wants an apology (and parts of him still hopes for groveling, as unrealistic and petty as that is), but he is no longer overwhelmed by the all-consuming sadness or anger he once felt. He won’t delude himself into thinking this is the end of it- that he is suddenly cured of his (rightfully) soured perspective of his old companion. But for once, actively thinking about their fall out provides him nothing more than bittersweet nostalgia.

Jaskier has grown- and he knows he is his own person. Though he doesn’t know why it took him so long to realize this. Or, perhaps more importantly, he doesn’t know why it took so long to realize he needed to be someone outside of his songs. He had always feared himself a mockingbird- adapting and replicating, but never creating. So, when the Witcher appeared he had clung to the idea of being able to produce something truly original. Music had always been his escape, and his own muse had entangled him. But now Jaskier has known a life without the Witcher- and he’s excelled at it.

He won’t deny wanting the Witcher, but he doesn’t need him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next part is a lot longer, but this seemed like a natural stopping point. Thank you again for reading and sorry for how long it took!


	10. The Road (Reunion)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gods, he can’t believe he’s going back to Cintra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting the final two chapters at once, so if you haven't read the last one yet go back. 
> 
> Wow, I can't believe I've finally finished this! I it is wild to me that what I initially thought would be a one shot of the baddy of the week trying to blackmail Jaskier with his feelings and failing completely has turned into this long of a retelling/continuation of the show!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read and left kudos, and an especially huge amount of gratitude to those of you who left comments. It got a little dicey there about finishing this and your support really gave me the inspiration to finish this (even if it is a year late, whoops).
> 
> Also, you may notice I've made this part of a series! I'm really hoping to continue with this characterization of Jaskier so please keep an eye out.

Jaskier is in northern Redania when he hears the news- he supposes that part isn’t surprising as he’s always spent an inordinate amount of time in Redania, especially lately. It’s a large country and one he easily can find himself lost in, which has become a bit harder to find lately. The parts of the Continent he can roam freely have continued to shrink over the last year- Nilfgaard edges ever closer and, according to the latest gossip, they’ve taken Cintra.

Cintra. Where Geralt’s Child of Surprise is (was) the princess.

Jaskier freezes one night, mug still raised, as the whispers spread through the tavern, struck by the knowledge that there is a decision here. He can continue entertaining the masses, though with quite a few more refugees within their midst, and try to stay one step ahead of the invasion. (When did the world become so small?)

Or, he can make his way towards Cintra.

Cintra. Where he could hopefully find the Witcher and his Child unharmed, but could just as likely discover both dead. Then he’d himself be alone and trapped in a kingdom twice forbidden to him.

It’s silly, Jaskier determines, to travel back to an invaded kingdom that holds no love for him on the off chance the Witcher might be alive. Alive, and possibly alone- his Child of Surprise killed before he could claim her. He could be in trouble. (He could feel _guilty_.) He could need help. (He could be _mourning_.) He could potentially benefit from a friendly face by his side; could maybe take comfort in the familiarity of an old routine. (Not that Geralt would ever admit such things, the bard thinks.) Jaskier remembers the Djinn (how could he forget?); and knows that while this destiny isn’t something the Witcher wanted, it is still one that wieghs heavily on him. If the princess is dead, the Witcher will feel responsible. And there will be no one there to ask him to run away to the coast.

__________

Melitele knows Yennefer isn’t going to be comforting anyone, much less Geralt. So, who does that leave?

__________

Nevertheless, running into a war zone would be foolish. Jaskier is just a humble bard, not a warrior or a hero- he isn’t the one who charges headfirst into battle. (He may charge headfirst into other forms of trouble, but rarely battle.) Going back to Cintra would be reckless and foolhardy.

__________

Gods, he can’t believe he’s going back to Cintra.

__________

The road seems colder now, somehow. Colder, even, then when he first descended the Caingorn Mountains alone. It’s his fellow travelers, the bard thinks, that seem to emanate a chill from somewhere deep beneath their bones. Jaskier watches them pass, notes how the closer he gets to Cintra the fewer possessions they carry. Notes how their eyes get glassier and the fearful chatter rises and strains into wails and cries before descending into an eerie silence. It seems war has stolen the voices of those closest to it, and Jaskier cannot dare to think of why that is. (Losing his voice was a nightmare even before the djinn, and the mute survivors trudging by him fill him with a particular dread.)

He has always had the habit of playing as he walks (despite Geralt’s obligatory complaints)- generally the monotony of travel lets his mind workshop new songs, and it helps the time pass. Now though, the bard presses shaky fingers to strings and tries to conjure every ounce of the performer he is to the forefront. He digs through his mind, searching every song he knows and plucking out the ones filled with bravery and hope. Then, he pours as much feeling as he can into them when he sees others approaching, and he continues to play at night when sharing a fire. In these brief moments he can see the shoulders relax, brows unfurrow- if he’s luckily, he may even catch a smile.

__________

His throat is raw and scratchy, but he keeps singing. His fingers bleed around their callouses, yet he keeps playing. The bard may not be a warrior or a hero, but he can do this. He can provide a moment of relief, a distraction- he can remind people that there will be a life past this war, that there is still something left.

__________

Very few still have coin to spare, but Jaskier doesn’t accept payment. Not for this.

__________

The stories of the invasion swell the closer he gets to Cintra. He hears of how the capitol was attacked in the middle of the night, how the nobles chose death at their own hand over whatever horrors Nilfgaard had waiting for them. (An option not allowed to the citizenry, Jaskier notices with the respectable amount of contempt one can have for the dead.) He hears of Queen Calanthe’s very literal fall from power and how the invaders slinked through the shadows to slaughter refugees after the kingdom had already broken.

He hears of a battle after Cintra’s defeat. Hears of how members of the Brotherhood stood against Nilfgaard at Sodden Hill. How they fell.

He hasn’t heard from Yennefer in a couple of weeks now- not since before the invasion. To Jaskier, the witch has always seemed larger than person could be- she is fury and storm, leaving the electric traces of Chaos in her wake. Though, he supposes, Yenn is also now wine soaked nights and proxy sisters, something more tangible- more touchable (More likely to fail). Despite this, her death is something he cannot (will not) imagine. If anyone can face an army and come out alive, it would be the stubborn witch he hasn’t been able to escape for decades. Besides, if Death ever did come for Yennefer, Jaskier imagines she’d have them under heel within a week.

(If Yenn dies, then there’s one less person in his life who can live as long as it seems he will.)

__________

Jaskier changes his mind more times than he can count while moving further south. The Witcher already told him he wasn’t wanted- that the bard had caused nothing but strife for his companion. Maybe finding Geralt isn’t motivated by kindness or any altruism; maybe it’s just a selfish desire to see the man again, to reclaim his place by his side?

Those doubts don’t exactly ring false, Jaskier admits; a part of him does long to see the Witcher again, even under these circumstances. He thinks he’s ready now. But he also knows that’s not the only motivation for this trek. Ever since he heard of invasion, Jaskier knew he needed to see his old companion- needed to make sure he was okay, and if not, to at least know what happened. Jaskier refuses to live his life wondering if Geralt’s body lies nameless and alone somewhere in Cintra.

Besides, if ( _when_ ) he finds the Witcher, Jaskier doubts he’d be turned away. He supposes it is a possibility (one he worries about incessantly in the back of his mind despite his conscious reasoning), but even if the other man doesn’t want to see him, he would hardly leave a bard undefended in unfriendly territory. (Geralt has always had a kinder heart than he would ever admit.)

Besides, Jaskier knows Geralt wasn’t ever really angry at _him_. (Which, if he’s being honest, is the part that makes Jaskier the angriest at _Geralt_.)

So he continuously waves his doubts aside and follows his feet south, with the instinctual drive of a bird returning to roost.

__________

It’s outside Temeria that he hears the crying. Well, it’s not odd nowadays to hear crying along the road, but normally it circles a campfire, muffled in another’s shoulder- it doesn’t rise through the woods like a fog developing in the night.

__________

The dark had snuck up on Jaskier. Usually by now the bard would have come across a group of refugees making camp for the night, would have joined them for the safety numbers can bring. (Or, at least the illusion of it.) But this section of road had been oddly barren of any fellow travelers, and without the reminder Jaskier had lost himself in his strumming, unaware of the encroaching night. He had looked up and suddenly found himself very alone in a very dark section of forest.

And then he heard the crying.

Every survival instinct he has cultivated over his travels with the Wither tell him to ignore the wails. Tell him that no good can come from investigating the pain he hears echoing through this lonesome woods.

Only, it sounds so young.

Jaskier supposes he would rather be wrong about this- rather have to fight his way out of a situation than ignore one he could help. (The Witcher had been rubbing off on him, it would appear.) Even so, he finds himself cursing as he dodges the knife thrown at him.

__________

Against his better judgement, he had followed the sounds of despair off the road only to stumble across a clearing he himself would have chosen to spend the night. (Secluded and safe, with a lack of rocks for sleeping, a stream nearby for water, and plenty of grass for Roach.) The first thing had spotted was a wisp of a girl hunched over and rocking slightly- the source of the wails he heard. He had barely time to register the scene before this seemingly small (Teenage? Jaskier is only guessing based on his own scattered recollections of his own sister’s adolescence) girl had snapped around to whip a knife in his direction.

Which brings him to his present conundrum of trying to figure how to balance not killing a child with a child who seemingly really wants to kill him.

Years of training with a Witcher had thankfully meant that the bard was able to dodge out of the intended trajectory, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t somewhat pissed at the whole situation.

“Holy-! Sweet fucking Melitele! You can’t just go tossing knives at every random person who- I, I mean, really! Honestly, I don’t know if I should congratulate your survival skills or be appalled at your inability to accept help when you’re the one who . . .” Jaskier’s complaints trail off as he assesses the girl in front of him; as he takes in her sorrow and helplessness.

Something is very wrong here, more than just an orphan traveling on her own. There’s a neigh and, finally, the bard shifts his attention to the horse tied up to a tree in the clearing.

Roach.

She pulls at her tether upon seeing the bard, huffing her own concerns, and Jaskier finally notices what is behind the homicidal child he’s stumbled upon. 

The figure is still and bloody, but Jaskier would know that form anywhere.

__________

_Geralt_.

__________

People connected by fate will always find each other

__________

Jaskier’s anger quickly turns to panic as he meets eyes with the girl (with the Child of Surprise). He wishes he could rush to the Witcher’s side- to take charge of the situation and care for Geralt as he’s always done. But the girl, Princess Cirilia (because really, who else could she be), is here now, and somehow Jaskier doubts she’d let him just push by her to the Witcher.

“I want to help,” Jaskier tries to croon to the frighten girl, raising his hand in the air in an attempt to show how unthreatening he is. (For most people this display is usually a lie, a way to avoid conflict before it can arise- but now, he truly hopes to convince _this_ girl he isn’t a threat.) “What potions have you’ve given him?” he follows up with, eyes flicking again to the too still body.

Princess Cirilla clenches her fingers around the sword she had grabbed upon throwing her knife and standing upright. It’s one of Geralt’s- the steel one, and Jaskier can tell from the shaking in her arms that it is heavier than anything she has tried to wield before.

She doesn’t answer.

“This is important” Jaskier can’t help but snap, and then feel immediate regret upon the girl’s subtle flinch. He takes a breath in an attempt to clear his mind- it doesn’t work, really, but it helps him reign in the panic in his voice. “I just want to help,” he repeats. “but I can only do that if you let me know what potions he’s already taken.”

While talking, Jaskier has been inching his way towards the contrary mare tied up at the edge of the clearing, and upon reaching her, Roach thrusts her head into his shoulder. Jaskier quickly capitalizes off this.

“See, Roach knows me- I really am just trying to help!” Jaskier isn’t above begging at this point, because Geralt is _here_ but he isn’t moving and he is bloody, and the princess was _crying_ and-. No, he can’t panic yet. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she finally bites out, and Jaskier takes a moment to internally curse the Witcher’s own self-sacrificing tendencies. (While almost all of his own knowledge of Witcher potions was self-taught, he had hoped Geralt would have at least been a little more proactive with his Child of Surprise.)

“Okay,” He breaths heavily through his nose before letting a long breath out, “Okay. I’m going to help him- you have to trust me that I am going to help him.” He strokes Roaches mane far more quickly than he intends as he continues, “Please, tell me- what happened?”

The child lowers the blade and looks to the unconscious Geralt. “I don’t know. He just told me he had a hunt to take care of, and that I should stay here. Then a few hours later he came stumbling back.” She makes a small noise and drops the blade even further before continuing, looking at Jaskier, lost. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him” she whispers.

Jaskier curses silently again but moves to check Roach’s saddle bags, dropping his own bag and lute beside her. He’ll just have to work off of what he’s seen. Fingers strum over the bottles in familiar motions before he finds the potions he’s looking for. Golden Oriole isn’t normally a restorative potion- Geralt prefers to take it before heading into a fight where he may be poisoned, but it will still serve this purpose. Jaskier has seen Geralt walk away from greater wounds than what the bard’s cursory glances have seen- thus, poison is a likely culprit for the Witcher’s current unconsciousness. (Which isn’t to say the amount of blood doesn’t still worry him.)

Jaskier grabs a Golden Oriol bottle as well as a Kiss potion- one to stop the poison and one to stem the bleeding. Depending on how forgone the Witcher is, he may need to gamble with the toxicity levels and come back for a Swallow potion to accelerate his healing.

The bard will admit that he isn’t the most observant student normally, but once he’s committed to something, he learns all he can about it. Memorizing what each of the Witcher’s potions does, and how Geralt kept his own supply organized, quickly became a priority fairly early in their relationship.

The princess (and wasn’t that still a kick to the teeth) watches him closely as he brings the bottles over and cradles the Witcher’s head in his lap. She kneels besides him and tries to protest when Jaskier shoves the Golden Oriole between the Witcher’s teeth, but he isn’t taking feedback at this time, so he continues and runs his fingers down Geralt’s throat to ease the liquid down.

No matter what, he _will_ save Geralt, and nothing will deter him.

__________

Jaskier hand is still curled around the vial, trying to coax the last of the Golden Oriole potion down the Wither’s throat, when he hears the cruel laugh ring and echo throughout the woods.

Both he and Princess Cirilla jerk to attention, though Jaskier tries to keep an eye on the potion still gurgling in the Witcher’s throat. Not that it matters much, he realizes, as the person Geralt must have been hunting, a woman, strolls into the clearing.

“My, my” she chuckles as wet, hunched over, humanoid forms file in and fan out behind her. Jaskier takes in the dark grey emaciated skin and cloudy yellow eyes, and tries to suppress a shudder. Drowned Dead, three of them - the Drowner’s nastier cousin, though he wonders how she has tempted them so far from their normal aquatic hunting grounds.

“A princess and a bard- how unexpected. Though, I suppose, not so unexpected given the Witcher involved.” The woman laughs again, hand raised to her mouth.

Honesty, Jaskier can’t help but think she looks as if she recently saw a play and decided to copy the mannerisms of an over-acted villain. It’s the professional in him that immediately notes the fake laugh and stilted movements. She’s new to this- the being the “bad guy” thing and is playing at it like a child. She’s trying on a persona that Yennefer has already embodied and weaponized with ease- this woman is used to getting what she wants without question and is unsure how to fight for it.

If she thinks she’s going to scare Jaskier then she’ll have quite a surprise coming- there are far scarier people in the world, and he has drinks with them regularly.

__________

(Gods, he hopes Yenn wasn’t at Sodden Hill.)

__________

Princess Cirilla is reaching for the sword she had finally dropped when Jaskier started helping the Witcher, when the bard whispers to her, “The other one.” Most things will die if you stab them enough, but monsters will only die if you stab them enough with silver.

Understanding seems to cross the girls face and Jaskier is filled with relief as she reaches instead for Geralt’s silver sword. If she knows that silver is needed, then hopefully she has some idea how to use a blade- she is Calanthe’s granddaughter, and the knife throw earlier was sloppy but not completely novice. Even though it is clear that the Witcher’s weapons are too heavy for her, hopefully (and gods does Jaskier hope), the princess can still hold her own. Jaskier himself moves Geralt’s head from his lap to the ground and slips his hands into his boots, fingers curling around the familiar blades hidden there.

“Now,” the woman exclaims, seemingly unaware of the quite preparations in front of her, “I had thought the people here knew enough to leave me alone. Yet, suddenly, a few more travelers than normal go missing and they send a Witcher after me.” The woman pats the Drowned Dead closest to her. “They should know by now that I control Chaos far beyond their understanding!”

Ah, Jaskier gets it now- she’s a hedgewitch; not enough power to attract the attention of Aretuza but just enough to feel slighted by that fact. (Though based on some of Yenn’s drunken ramblings, maybe she doesn’t know how lucky she is.) He still isn’t sure how she’s controlling the monsters, but he supposes that doesn’t matter so much in the immediate as making sure Geralt and his Child of Surprise are safe.

“Besides, with Nilfgaard coming, how can they blame me for wanting to shore up my defenses.”

Water puns. Wonderful. (Jaskier is the only one allowed to make puns.)

“But I suppose that doesn’t matter now that I can give them the princess they’re looking for. Maybe they’ll even make me a court mage!” The witch’s eyes alight with delight at the prospect. (Once again, if Yennefer’s diatribes where anything to go off of, this woman would enjoy being a court mage even less than she would Aretuza.) She fixes her gaze on Jaskier and asks, “So why don’t you pretend you didn’t see anything, bard? I have no quarrel with you or your Witcher, even if he did take out a few of my boys.” She gestures to the monsters beside her. “We can call it a misunderstanding. Leave the girl and you can take him and go, no need for to let the rest kill you both. I’ll even tell Nilfgaard you helped- it is always better to be in the conquering kingdom’s good graces when they’re done invading.” She shoots Jaskier a smile as if they are sharing an old joke- as if they are the _same_ , willing to sell a child to the highest bidder. “Now, bard, what do you say?” 

It’s not without some disgust that he won’t deny that the offer tugs a bit at the back of his mind. Not the being in Nilfgaard’s good graces aspect, so much as the he and Geralt getting out alive part. But he’s tried to talk himself out of enough situations to recognize when someone’s bluffing. Jaskier wonders how many of her Drowned Dead the Witcher managed to kill before he stumbled back to camp, poisoned. Even disregarding that, as much as the bard is a fan of saving his own skin, this is a child- and not just any child. Geralt’s child. He’s not letting anything happen to either of them.

Something flickers in the corner of his vision and he catches Geralt’s eyes crack open briefly as he weakly coughs. Jaskier allows a smile to tug at his lips, relieved that even without the Kiss potion, the Golden Oriole is starting to kick in.

“Well, that all does sound rather interesting.” Jaskier blithely states as he rises, unsheathing his knives as he straightens out. “However, a counteroffer- you leave before I slit your throat and feed you your own tongue,” he proposes with a smile. The princess takes in a short breath but is quick to stand up as well, gripping the silver sword with white knuckles. (He hopes she didn’t think he’d turn her over, but he supposes he can’t blame her for fearing the worst of people.)

However, it seems Jaskier wasn’t the only one who noticed the Witcher’s stirrings, as the woman’s eyes snap from the (partially) unconscious man to the bard’s face. Her hands are clenching and unclenching, voice shrill, as she tries out her apparent ultimatum. “I can see your heart, bard. Leave now or I tell him your deepest secret!”

This does actually give Jaskier pause. Not, because he’s worried about his secret being spilled- rather that he’s wracking his brain for what that secret is. The bard has always considered himself to be a bit of an open book. He does make a living selling emotions, after all. It’s true that Geralt doesn’t know about his title, but that was born of Jaskier’s personal desire to detach himself from that former life than any real fear of the Witcher finding out.

She looks furious when he merely shrugs and raises his daggers higher.

“You love him” the witch spits out, an accusation.

Jaskier laughs. The sound trails off awkwardly as she continues to glare at him. “Oh, you’re- you’re serious. I mean, _yes_? I haven’t exactly been subtle about that.”

Was _that_ the secret she thought he’d turn a child over to protect? It wasn’t even a secret! Though judging by Cirilla’s harsh intake of breath it was a secret to one person here- but they’ve only known each other for about thirty minutes and Geralt has been dying for almost all of those, so Jaskier supposes he can forgive it. 

Even so, he has to wonder what it is about witches and thinking that they can hurt him by pointing out the obvious- that he loves Geralt. (He remembers vaguely, through a haze of wine, having a similar conversation with Yennifer months ago.) Jaskier finds himself feeling less scared and more confused as the witch seemingly fumes that her plan failed.

“Fine!” She yells, “Then you can die together!”  
  
Jaskier doesn’t have time to debate if she stole that line from a play because the Drowned Dead are rushing forwards at the princess and him.

__________

Thankfully, Cirilla does seem to know how to use a blade, though the block against the monster’s blackened claws is slow and shaky with the weight of the sword. Not, that Jaskier can waste too much of his attention on her battle- not when he is being pushed back, trying to avoid the swipes of the two attacking him.

He’s never been one for swords, (he is just a humble bard, and it gives people the wrong impression when you’re visibly armed) but he can’t deny that the extra reach wouldn’t be welcomed as he has to quickly slash and dodge. It would also be easier, Jaskier wryly thinks to himself, if he had splurged for silver plating on his other dagger instead of continuously putting it off in favor of a new doublet. Instead, his steel knife is functioning as a particularly small shield while he attempts to get in some good hits with the silver dagger Geralt had gifted him.

__________

He wouldn’t have classified the fight as going well, but he at least managed to stab one of the Drowned in the chest with enough accuracy for it to stagger back before he feels claws piercing his upper arms and forcing him down.

__________

In his focus on not losing a vital body part, Jaskier hadn’t realized where the two monsters were herding him- not until he feels the cold water of the stream slap against his back.

As his head sinks under, the bard is chilled by both the water and the sudden realization of how monsters born through drowning are in the middle of a forest.

__________

You can drown in an inch of water.

__________

Gods, he can’t breathe- he can’t _breathe_. The stream is shallow, he knows it’s shallow, if he could just lift his head then he could take a breath and be fine and-. His mouth opens on instinct and water fills it, but it’s still better than the taste of blood, he supposes, and even in his panic doesn’t try to actually breathe in.

He’s choked through enough nightmares to know it won’t help. 

Blindly, he swings his arms up, knives still tightly clutched in his hands, trying to find purchase against the monster holding him down.

Suddenly, Jaskier feels the Drowned still above him, claws loosening their grips, and he uses the opportunity to sit up, gasping for air as he slashes for the beast’s throat. Afterwards, he takes in the sword protruding from the monster’s chest and a flash of silver hair, and momentarily hopes Geralt has finally recovered before he places the height of the person above him. Then he barely has enough time to appreciate that the Princess of Cintra has just saved his life before he sees the Drowned Dead she must have abandoned to do so launch itself at her back. 

With a cry, the princess and the monster fall to the side, sword ripped from the young girl’s fingers. Jaskier has just enough time to lament the fact that he somewhat forgot he has two weapons in his hands as he’s leaping to bodily tackle the monster off of her. Luckily, as they roll, he is still able to get his right hand in position and deliver a few quick jabs to its side. They wind up, mercifully, on land though with the Drowned on top and Jaskier’s left arm holding it back by the throat as his right continues to frantically stab into the flailing mass above him.

He is barely managing to keep the gnashing teeth away from his face (Thank gods, he’s gone this long without a scar on his face- he needs his face, he’s a bard) when he suddenly feels the oddly cold, black, blood of a monster spray across his head and chest, and the body above him goes slack. It takes a moment for him to realize that crown of the Drowned Dead is no longer attached to the rest of its head, and is, in fact, is sliding to the side, revealing a large man dressed in black behind it. Once he’s compartmentalized away the weight against him and the thick, congealing feeling on his face, Jaskier can’t help but feel relived- Geralt is awake.

The Witcher is alright, and here, and that means Jaskier is safe. (At least, that is the mantra that repeats in his head.)

He sits up, frantically spitting monster blood from his mouth as he takes in the Princess Cirilla, thankfully safe but shaken next to him on the bank, and Geralt- who is quickly beheading the remaing Drowned with the sword the princess dropped.

The witch barely has time to offer up a syllable of defense before he is descending upon her as well and, once again, Jaskier is amazed by the ferocious efficiency of the Witcher. The way, even though his wounds still sluggishly leak blood, he stalks his prey.

Measured. Forceful. 

__________

_Primal_.

__________

Jaskier thinks he could watch the White Wolf work a thousand times over, then a thousand times again and still be struck by the deadly beauty of his work.

Distantly, part of him wonders if in another life, one where he never followed an ornery man into the mountains, if he would still find grace in the carnage. Would Julian, if he had stayed him, shrink back from the Witcher’s prowl, like so many do? Jaskier, whenever this thought crosses his mind, never let it linger long- he wanted this life for a reason, whether that desire was born with him or learned somewhere along the way matters little. This is what he chose, and thus this is what his life _is_.

It’s as simple as that.

(If notions of fate or destiny sometimes slip across him mind, he certainly never lets them escape for Geralt to hear.)

__________

The witch looks to Jaskier, mouth opening to speak before Geralt kills her, for all the good she thought that would do. He supposes she was smarter than most, to try to appeal to the bard before she had to fight Geralt head on, but in the end Jaskier is left wondering that same thing- who thinks they can take on a Witcher?

(With how much effort Jaskier has put into building the White Wolf’s reputation, he is a little offended by the challengers that ignore it.)

Once the woman falls, Geralt removes and smashes a necklace she had been wearing, so Jaskier supposes that was the source of her power over the Drowned Dead. Mystery solved, he chuckles to himself, a little woozy from the blood still currently leaving his body.

The princess is up and across the clearing in an impressively short amount of time, plastering herself to Geralt in a hug. It’s only Jaskier’s years of practice that pick up on the way the Witcher holds back a groan as she presses on some still open wounds. Even so, the he wraps his arms around the girl, and rubs her back. “Ciri” he rumbles softly, as the girl sobs into his armor.

“I thought you were going to die- I thought you were going to leave me too!” The princess gasps, as the Witcher continues to hold her.

Jaskier doesn’t know if there is some innate destiny sense happening, or if Geralt has a priorly unknown ability with children- but the bard has never seen the Witcher look so . . . soft. (Just because _Jaskier_ hasn’t seen that look, doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened around him before.) Watching the scene, the bard feels something in him soften and loosen, contentment curling in his stomach.

It seems he’s not the only one whose changed.

“I didn’t know what to do- how to help,” then princess continues to hiccup, “but, thank Melitele, he showed up and knew what potions you needed and – “

“What?” Geralt cuts her off, and looks up and finally, _finally_ , those golden eyes land on him. “Jaskier?” the Witcher breaths out.

“Hello, Geralt” Jaskier lilts in return, though the words somehow feel stale and awkward on his tongue, despite how often he has offered them up in sacrament before. The bard knows his tone is too soft for this first encounter- too emotional. But Geralt is here and he’s alive and he is _looking_ at him, and Jaskier’s soul is soaring with song and he is _home_ , at last. He feels like his body can no longer contain him, that with each moment they continue to stare at each other he grows closer to bursting from his chest into a thunderous, glorious, flight of noise and emotion. 

Jaskier clears his throat, trying to force the cacophony of words back down, and finally breaks eye contact with Geralt, before continuing, “I’m only gone for a year and you almost die? You’re lucky I was traveling in the area and took gracious pity upon such a sad scene. I mean really, I leave you alone for but a moment and – “

Thankfully, Jaskier’s rambling is cut off by Geralt. “Jaskier” he says again, though with more certainty this time, something warm licking the edges of his tone. The Witcher’s mouth twists up in that almost smile he sometimes does, before falling back into stoicism as he looks at the bard in front of him, “You need stiches.”

__________

“Melitele’s tits, Geralt!” Jaskier hisses between clenched teeth.

“Don’t curse in front of the child.” The Witcher flatly replies, continuing to sew up the puncture wounds on Jaskier’s arms. Said child is already asleep in front of the fire, huddled next to Roach, who offers no opinion on the matter of curse words and their appropriate usage.

It had taken a while to get the girl to lay down on her own, even after Geralt had introduced Jaskier as a “friend” (And hadn’t Jaskier had a slight inner breakdown, realizing this was the first time his best friend of 23 years had referred to him as such) and assuring her that the danger had passed. And now, Jaskier and the Witcher have fallen into a familiar fireside routine.

“You never give enough warning before you start!” the bard argues (whines).

“Knowing won’t make it better,” Geralt gruffly replies. He continues in silence before switching arms and finally meeting Jaskier’s eyes during the transition. A peculiar look crosses his face, one Jaskier can’t name but seems to remember, “Jaskier, I . . . I shouldn’t have. . . back on the mountain . . .”

Suddenly, Jaskier recognizes the look- he had seen it years ago, also while Geralt was helping him with stitches, when the Witcher had thought the bard had killed someone for the first time.

Jaskier groans and rolls his eyes. “Why do you always think stitching me up is an appropriate time for emotionally loaded conversations? We will talk about this, Geralt, but it will be when I’m not quite so low on blood and you haven’t recently been poisoned.”

__________

Gods, he can’t believe there was a time when he thought the Witcher was deliberate with his words- that he adhered to a sharp, streamlined, approach to conversation that Jaskier could only be in awe of. After years together he now knows that both of them fumble for words; Jaskier has to struggle to cut off the overgrowth that threatens to overtake him while Geralt has to fight to find every fragment.

__________

The Witcher nods sharply in acknowledgment. “Later?” He grunts out, a question that seemed to carry more weight than it should.

Jaskier feels a smile cross his face. “Yes, later- I promise. We’ll have time to talk, after this.”

Both of them seem to sigh in relief, and Geralt gets back to stitching what little remains of Jaskier’s wounds.

__________

Jaskier knows there is a choice here.

__________

He could slip away in the night, never acknowledge that this blip of an encounter even registered. That would probably be the smart decision, to cut his losses and continue along the path he has retread for himself.

Jaskier is a famous bard. He is well respected and welcomed in almost every nation and could hide out his days (however long they may be) in luxury.

But looking at the Witcher and his Child of Surprise, Jaskier doesn’t think he can walk away.

They will need to talk- not now, not when they are in enemy territory and wounded, but eventually. And, finally, it is conversation the bard thinks he can have.

It’s probably foolish, Jaskier thinks, how easy it is for him to decide to stay- that years of hurt and lingering resentment can be set aside because one (or both of them, really) came close to dying. But, if he’s being honest, Jaskier isn’t angry at Geralt anymore. Not, that he forgives him yet- not completely. Not without him saying the words and following up on them. But enough to allow him the opportunity to try.

Words have always been hard for both of them - it’s the action (the melody) that counts, but that doesn’t mean the words aren’t important.

__________

He thinks Yennefer would be disappointed in him, for not demanding more.

That hurts more than he expected.

__________

He unfurls his roll next to Geralt. Neither acknowledge the fact that both seem to turn towards each other (towards the campfire, of course, if either was asked). But curling up in to sleep, Jaskier can feel a difference from campfires they had shared in the past.

__________

Jaskier has learned to live without his Witcher. 

He could have assembled this campsite without the Witcher- could have found the clearing and defended it. If this had been any other person, Jaskier would have gathered other survivors, and upon seeing them safe, would had sang songs of bravery and strength. Enough to give them hope, to give them the will to continue on.

But the Witcher _is_ here. And that makes things easier.

It makes everything seem a little less heavy, if nothing ese.

__________

He doesn’t need Geralt.

__________

He chooses him.

__________

In the morning, Geralt packs quickly, loading Roach with camping supplies before depositing the princess on her back. Jaskier notices that Cirilla’s bedroll is the same one he saw months ago, the one he would have sworn was his old roll- if he didn’t know better. Though, maybe, he doesn’t actually know better why Geralt hung on to two sets of camping supplies, if his easy acceptance of Jaskier last night was any indication.

Geralt stalks over from the princess to Jaskier, ignoring Roach’s huff and the girl’s curious glances.

“You love me” Geralt grunts out, flat tone making it hard to determine if it’s a question or not, even with Jaskier’s experience.

“Of course,” Jaskier answers anyways, a hint of incredulity in his voice. He doesn’t know why Geralt is pointing this out _now_ \- not when Jaskier has given him so many other opportunities to do so. When Geralt merely ‘Hmmm’s he hesitantly follows up with, “Is that . . . Does it change anything?”, confused as to why this conversation is even happening.

“How long?” Geralt asks instead of answering.

Jaskier chuckles, soft and breathy, and rubs at his face. “Melitele, Geralt, I wrote you a ballad after knowing you a day- what do you think?” Incredulous no longer even begins to describe how he feels. Dropping his hands, the bard looks the other man in the eye. “Is that alright?”  
  


Geralt lets a short breath out of his nose, in what could be a laugh. “Of course,” he answers before heading back towards Cirilla and Roach. After a beat he looks over his shoulder (confused, though for a different reason than Jaskier) and jerks his head, indicating for Jaskier to follow.  
  


The bard smiles widely, and rushes to catch up. As they make their way, he plucks the string of his lute absently, his next song already taking root in his heart.  
  


__________

It starts, (if such things can have a definite start) on a road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again so much for sticking with me and reading- I hope you all enjoyed! I know it doesn't have a huge reconciliation scene, but I always planned to end it this way on sort of hopeful, more to come note. Like I said, I'm planning to continue in this series so please keep an eye out. 
> 
> Also, I have a writing playlist! It's honestly your best bet to know when I'm writing because I start adding a bunch of songs at once. It's mostly Indie Folk Revival with some more Pop-ish stuff thrown in (because lets be honest, if Jaskier was in modern times he'd write pop music) 
> 
> It can be found here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4bdqdF15DVUu7tQ32cnRo8?si=pN5AYjHdRv6iMEZLpw7xEw


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